


Champion of the Goddess

by cosmic_cube_keeper



Series: Champion of the Goddess [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley
Genre: Alternate Universe, Course Language, Crossover, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 59
Words: 319,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_cube_keeper/pseuds/cosmic_cube_keeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Convicted of breaking the statute of secrecy, Harry flees to Canada with the help of his godfather.  After a terrible incident, the Goddess names him her champion, and provides him a way to better-equip himself for the battle with Voldemort.  AU, Time-travel.  Dumbles bashing.  Crossover with the Mists of Avalon miniseries.  Dark!Harry, Amnesiac!Harry, AU, eventual Harry x Arthur Pendragon, eventual Harry x OMC.  WARNING: SLASH, violence, mature subject matter.  This story is rated M for a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Final Injustice

**Author's Note:**

> I've debated perhaps a dozen ways of doing this one. The original _“Canadian Intervention”_ , released back in 2007 when I was using a different pen name, eventually featured Harry venturing into the past, and receiving training from the Isle of Avalon. However, there were a lot of problems with it, mainly immaturity in the writing style. Issues that prevent me from re-posting it. Instead, I take a slightly more mature route.
> 
> The original plot bunny hatched after I watched “The Mists of Avalon”, the 2001 miniseries by TNT, which brought Marion Zimmer-Bradley's book to the small screen. Granted, there have been more than a few fictions out there that cover Harry harnessing the power of Avalon, but each has their own angle, and this is mine.
> 
> In case you skimmed the summary, this story will have SLASH in it, as in, homosexual relationships. Guy on guy. Wand on wand. Boy kissing. Whatever you want to call it. If your mind is too small to handle the idea, then you might want to click the back-button now. For those who are able to cope with the perfectly normal concept, welcome aboard.
> 
> A few other things to keep in mind, the timeframe for Harry's universe has been moved forward ten (10) years. Harry being born in 1990, rather than 1980. The story begins the summer after Harry's fourth year, at his trial for under-aged sorcery.
> 
> Finally, I must stress that this story contains MATURE SUBJECT MATTER, and therefore garners the MATURE rating. There will be graphic depictions of violence, and the potential for triggering scenes and scenarios. Seriously. I have no time for people who ignore these warnings, read half the story, then post a flame at the first thing that makes them uncomfortable, because they failed to read the opening notes. You have been warned. Flames will be shredded and ignored.
> 
> Still with me? Very well. I then present, “CHAMPION OF THE GODDESS”.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is found guilty of violating the statute of secrecy at his hearing. He realizes he needs to start making decisions for himself, and flees Grimmauld Place, headed for Gringotts.

ACT I: CHANGE

> "Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”

_\- George Bernard Shaw_

_Posted October 9, 2014  
_

* * *

# 101\. FINAL INJUSTICE

## August, 2005

> “The highest reach of injustice is to be deemed just when you are not.”  
> 

_\- Plato_

August 2, 2005  
Courtroom 10, Ministry of Magic

“ _Not a very convincing witness,_ ” Fudge's words echoed in Harry's head, as he stood, staring at his feet. And really, Mrs. Figg couldn't have appeared more batty if she'd tried. 'Real nice impression there, Dumbledore,' Harry raged in his head, while the Wizengamot continued to whisper amongst themselves, deliberating the testimony just presented. Granted, Dumbledore had made some very good points, but really. Mrs. Figg opening her testimony with “ _I was going to buy cat food for my cats..._ ” Yeah. That too left a nice impression on the court.

Then the whispering stopped. Harry wanted to look up at the judges, but found that it was really much, much easier to keep examining his laces.

“Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?” said Madam Bones's booming voice.

Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air... but... only a quarter, at most. His heart sank, as Madam Bones then said, “And those in favour of conviction?”(1)

As expected, the remainder of the Wizengamot raised their hands. Fudge looked around at them all, carrying a smug look on his face.

“Very well, very well,” he spoke, almost jovially, “Having been found guilty of the charges, it is then ordered that you, Harry James Potter, be expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, effective immediately. You are to surrender your wand—”

Harry didn't let Fudge finish, but yanked his wand out of the waistband of his pants, and flung it at the floor.

“I hope _Voldemort_ finds every last one of you. I won't raise a finger,” he snarled. A storm of rage had welled up inside him—it was easier to be filled with anger than to acknowledge what he was truly feeling at that moment: crushing sadness, injustice, and ultimately, betrayal.

“Harry—” Dumbledore tried, but the boy was already storming out of the courtroom, leaving a sputtering Wizengamot behind. The young wizard's utterance of 'Voldemort' had a number of the membership looking ill, while others looked about ready to faint. If anything, it had been a right Slytherin thing to do, effectively stunning the room into inaction, allowing him to escape.

Dumbledore summoned Harry's wand, and stuffed it into the pocket of his robes, then waited for the room to settle down.

“Well, Cornelius, I hope you're happy,” he said, gravely, “In your haste to see justice served, you may have just doomed us all.”

“He-who-must-not-be-named is GONE, Dumbledore, and he isn't coming back!” Fudge blustered, though still unsettled by the boy's brazen use of the monster's name.

“Whether you wish to acknowledge the evidence or not, the evidence is irrefutable. Mark my words, the choices you have all made here will have serious consequences. Perhaps not immediately, but most definitely in the future. With that I bid you all a good day.”

Dumbledore then swept from the courtroom.

* * *

Harry stormed past everyone in the ministry, ignoring Arthur Weasley calling out to him; he was completely focused on finding an outgoing fireplace in order to escape the place whose walls seemed to be closing in on him. Finding one open, he grabbed a fistful of powder from the small pot suspended from a hook beside it, flung it at the grate, then hurled himself into the emerald-green flames, commanding, “NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE!”

Harry stumbled out of the grate moments later, and barely had a chance to straighten himself up, before he was bombarded by questions.

“Just... leave me alone,” he muttered, pushing his way through the small crowd.

He needed time to think about things... how to go forward now. He'd certainly considered the thought, but... really. Everyone had assured him things would be fine.

“Harry...”

“Piss off,” Harry snarled, as he thundered up the stairs. He missed the hurt look that crossed Sirius' face. He made it up to the second floor, and into the room he was sharing with Ron, slamming the door behind.

The Dementor attack had been bad. This... this was worse. Far worse. No wand, no way to protect himself—Voldemort would finish him off the next time they met, that was for certain. Unless Dumbledore had some secret backup plan up his sleeve. The man held far too many secrets.

He was momentarily startled, when Hedwig fluttered down and landed on his shoulder.

“Hi, girl. Right mess we're in, huh?”

The owl simply puffed up her feathers, before rubbing up against the side of his head as a show of affection.

“Sometimes I wish we could trade places... wait.”

An idea popped into his head. Maybe not trade places, but... Harry flung the lid of his trunk open, and retrieved his invisibility cloak, slammed it shut, then collected his broom, which rested in a corner.

“Care to come for a flight with me?”

So it was, that one fifteen-year-old ex-wizard, and one snowy owl, hidden under an invisibility cloak, escaped to the back garden. Harry counted his blessings that neither Alastor 'mad-eye' Moody, nor Professor Dumbledore were in the house; the adventure would have been over before it started. All the same, Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he mounted his broom and took off, his companion lifting off to join him.

Perhaps the stunt was a little reckless, but at this point, he really felt he had nothing to lose. The Wizarding world had let him down yet again. His friends had let him down somewhat... and so did Sirius, in a way. Dumbledore was a wise man, yes, but he was human, prone to mistakes, just like everyone else. And why was it he seemed to have authority over everyone? He was the headmaster of his (former) school, right? What right did he have to dictate what others did or did not do?

So many questions filled his head, but it all came back to one. What now? He sure as hell wasn't going back to the Dursleys. And why was it Dumbledore insisted he had to go back there in the first place? Maybe Sirius could let him stay at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had invited Harry to live with him over a year prior, right?

No. That would likely not work. _Dumbledore_ would never allow it. But the question again... why did what Dumbledore have to say really matter? The more he thought about it, the more angry he became at the old man. Secrets on top of secrets, perhaps the largest grief Harry had with him at the moment... he'd still not given an answer as to why Voldemort had singled him out in the first place. Why him? What was so important, that his comfort, happiness, and potentially, his very life, appeared to be second-priority?

As it came on mid-afternoon, Harry found himself flying just above the rooftops near Charing Cross Road, and more specifically, the Leaky Cauldron. From the air, it was a little more difficult to spot, but after a few minutes' searching, he spotted the rather worn sign overhanging the street. He aimed his broom for the alley, and touched down. Hedwig fluttered down to again light on his shoulder.

“Right, Hedwig. Meet me in Diagon Alley, okay? I might have a plan.” Well, a half-baked plan, but most important, he needed to speak to Sirius.

Hedwig again gave a gentle rub against Harry's head, then took off. Harry, meanwhile, stowed his invisibility cloak in his small rucksack, took a good hold of his broom, then stepped inside the dingy pub.

Harry groaned, finding the place packed with witches and wizards. Right. Afternoon tea. Typical of his luck. A few people called out to him, while a few sniggered behind his back, as he crossed the pub, and into the small courtyard in which stood the wall separating Diagon Alley from the Muggle world.

“Mr. Potter.”

“Uh. Oh. Tom,” Harry greeted.

“Rotten luck,” said the barman, sadly, “They should've let you off.”

“Yeah, but it's me we're talking about,” Harry answered, “Uh, could you do me a favour and open the gateway? I...”

“Right.”

Tom produced his wand, and tapped the bricks in the correct order.

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Stepping through the gateway, Harry made a bee line for Gringotts, with Hedwig lighting on his shoulder about half-way there. The plan was taking firmer shape in his head now... though really, if he could get Sirius' help, it would go much smoother. His trust vault might cover what he was about to do, but... it really depended on him having access to coin.

He at last arrived at the enormous white building that seemed to tower over the other buildings in the alley, and with a nod to the goblin sentry outside, he pushed open the doors, and entered the Wizarding bank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Sirius joins his godson at Gringotts, and with the help of two account managers, provide Harry with the way and means to escape from Dumbledore and the Order's clutches._   
> _(1) Taken from p.138, “Order of the Phoenix”, Canadian soft-cover edition. Mostly verbatim._


	2. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius joins his godson at Gringotts, and with the help of two account managers, provide Harry with the way and means to escape from Dumbledore and the Order's clutches.

102\. THE ESCAPE  
August, 2005

> _"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.”_

_\- William S. Burroughs_

At first, both Ron and Hermione wanted to storm up the stairs after their friend, but Sirius wouldn't have any of it. “Just give him some space,” he'd told them. So, it wasn't until nearly lunch time that they discovered Harry was missing. It was a near-panic, until Ron realized Harry's broom was gone.

“And he's left his photo album here,” Hermione noticed, peeking into her friend's trunk, “He wouldn't just leave that kind of thing behind.”

“Still, it's irresponsible!” Tonks exclaimed, “He could be seen! He could be captured!”

“We have to—”

“No, we're not going to look for him,” said Sirius, firmly, “Harry needs a bit of space, and chasing after him won't be productive.”

“But without a wand...” Tonks worried.

“Well... he did take his invisibility cloak.” Hermione was still looking in Harry's trunk. “But...”

“He'll be back. All of you, no sense in getting all worked up about it.”

In the kitchen a short while later, the major members of the Order were gathered, discussing what to do next.

“He'll have to be watched closely from here on out,” said Mrs. Weasley, “The things that go through a young man's mind at the best of times... and with this...”

“We know, Molly,” said Dumbledore, from his place at the end of the table, “I'm asking that he remain here until we learn of a way to have this travesty undone. We will also have to think of contingencies come the end of the school year, if there has been no resolution by then.”

“He'll remain here with me,” said Sirius, at once.

“As admirable as that is, he must still return to his relatives for at least two weeks out of the summer to recharge the wards. Not doing so could be disastrous.”

“You still haven't explained to us why it is so important, Albus. And given Dementors did attack Harry and his cousin close to the house, I somewhat doubt the strength and validity of your supposed wards.”

“It involves ancient magic Harry's mother somehow called on.”

Sirius had heard that answer before. He closed his eyes, and sucked in a breath. No sense in exploding at the old man—he was unflappable with that regard. Being in charge of a thousand or so students for ten months of the year, he was somewhat immune to someone yelling in his face, or any other sort of tantrum.

“Neither here nor there,” said Moody, dismissively, “Back door out to the garden needs to be barred from here on out, only way in or out then's the front door.”

Sirius remained quiet, listening as the Order began to plan out his godson's daily life for the foreseeable future. Sirius was by all accounts a prisoner in his own home... and now they were about to do the same with Harry.

No. Being a grown man, and perhaps for good reason, that was fine and dandy... but Harry was fifteen years old. He deserved better than the bad hand he was being dealt. Sirius might not be able to help the Order all that much, but being Harry's godfather... he most certainly could help the boy out... whether Dumbledore liked it or not. Perhaps it was time to put his name and his coin to use.

His musing was interrupted as a crow fluttered in through the window, a sealed scroll in its beak, to land in front of him. This instantly had the attention of the others gathered at the table, as he accepted the scroll, and unrolled it. He read the contents, before setting the scroll alight.

“Excuse me.”

“Bad news?” Lupin asked from across the table.

“No, information of a personal matter.”

He swept from the room, and climbed the stairs up to the second level. The note couldn't have arrived at a more opportune time. Sirius entered the room Harry had been sharing with Ron—Ron was elsewhere at the moment, which was more than convenient. He shut the lid to Harry's trunk, and shrunk it down so it could be tucked away in a pocket, then twisted on the spot, and Disapparated with a soft  _pop_ .

Sirius arrived a moment later in an alcove just off of Diagon Alley, not far from Gringotts. Sure, it was a massive risk to be out in public, but his godson needed his help, and after what he'd just been listening to back at his mother's house... no, the risk was more than worth it. He touched his wand to the top of his head, silently casting a disillusionment charm on himself, before stepping out of the shadows, and entering the bank.

The goblin guards at the door both gave him a menacing grin, making him aware they knew of his presence.

“I'm here at a manager's request,” he spoke, before crossing the floor to a teller. Luckily, with it being afternoon tea, the bank was not all that busy. He removed the disillusionment charm.

“What do you want, wizard?” the teller all but demanded.

“My godson, Harry Potter, is with an account manager. He's asked me to be present for ongoing business dealings.”

“I see. Wait here.”

The goblin disappeared behind the counter, and was gone for a few minutes. He then returned, saying, “Follow me, please.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at a large, ornate door. The goblin rapped the door with his knuckles, and moments later, came a gruff, “Enter!”

The goblin pushed open the door, revealing an equally opulent office. An older goblin sat behind a large desk, and Harry was seated in a comfortable chair. He stood up at once, a mad grin appearing on his face.

“Sirius!”

“Hey, kiddo. Good thinking, coming here.”

“If that is all,” said the goblin who'd brought Sirius to the office. The goblin behind the desk waved him off, and so he withdrew, pulling the door closed.

“Harry, we need to get you out of the country,” said Sirius, as though it were the most obvious thing.

Harry could only grin.

“Reading my mind, Sirius. Just... my trust vault, I dunno...”

“We'll leave your trust vault alone,” said Sirius, glancing at the nameplate on the desk, “Griphook. I will need Barstock, my account manager present.”

Griphook made a gesture at the door, and seconds later, a goblin stepped into the room.

“Send for Barstock,” Griphook ordered.

The younger goblin left at once.

“What is it you have in mind?” Griphook questioned.

“I'm naming Harry my Heir Apparent,” Sirius answered.

“Well then. Indeed, we will need the assistance of Barstock on this matter,” said Griphook.

“Sirius. I mean, I only needed—”

“Whatever you might have come up with, trust me, this will work out much better. Both financially, and in a magical sense. Though I will need a bit of time to sort out the magical side of things.”

“What... what will it mean?”

“Independence. Being named official heir to the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black, declares you an adult in all matters legal and financial,” Sirius explained, “At least, that's how I understand it.”

“And your understanding of the matter is entirely correct,” said Griphook.

“Good. Which then moves us to another piece of business. That Harry be given proper Muggle identification.”

Griphook gave a nod, and began scribbling something on a piece of parchment. He placed it on a tray at the corner of the desk, and it instantly vanished.

“We should have those for you in about a half hour.”

“My... what will other places think of me... I mean, with me being convicted by the Wizengamot...”

“I think you'll make out more than fine, Harry,” said Sirius, “And remember, no matter where you go, I'm just an owl post away. I expect you'll keep me updated with what you're doing. We'll get you squirrelled away out from under the headmaster's influence, hopefully get you set up with some decent teachers—if not getting you enrolled in a school someplace.”

“If you're willing to spend some coin, Gringotts could offer a disguise that will keep you from being recognized and questioned,” Griphook offered.

“How much will it cost?”

“Four thousand galleons.”

“Take it from the Black vault then. If it'll help protect my godson,” said Sirius, producing his key, and sliding it across the desk.

“Sirius...”

“Harry, that sort of purchase would mean absolutely nothing at the end of the day,” Sirius answered, “When Barstock gets here, you'll understand.”

Harry's mind was going into overdrive at this point. The meeting was proving to be far more productive than he could have hoped for. With access to a deep coin purse, he'd be able to go just about anywhere. Of course, it would have to be someplace they still spoke English. As tempting as France was (maybe he could meet up with the Delecours again)... no, learning the language would be a learning curve he didn't want to take on.

Beside the point, he wanted to put at least an ocean in between him and Dumbledore and the English ministry of magic and Voldemort and his minions. So, somewhere in the colonies. The United States, or Canada. Mexico, but... no, same problem as France. He was set against learning a new language at this point.

Australia and New Zealand were also possibilities, and that would be putting more than an ocean between him and England, and perhaps a whole bunch of time zones to boot. ...no, that wouldn't work either. The post would be a nightmare. Even being separated by an ocean would mean one hell of a flight for any owl. So, the United States, or Canada.

“Harry...”

“Huh?”

“You were staring off into space,” said Sirius.

“Thinking.”

“Ah. Look. Something else you need to think about, is changing your name. You have your astronomy textbook from last year?”

“Yeah. Still not had a chance to sort through the things in my trunk. You brought it, right?”

“Of course.”

Sirius reached into the pocket of his robes, and produced Harry's trunk, and handed it over.

“The documentation you've requested will update itself should you change your disguise,” said Griphook.

“Perfect.”

“Right. So as I was saying... the Blacks... we're generally named after stars or constellations.”

“Right... such as you being named after the brightest star in the night sky,” Harry grinned.

“Exactly. Another example, my brother Regulus, being named after a star in the Leo constellation.”

“Got it. Uh... could you un-shrink my trunk for me?”

“Just hold on. I need you to do that sort of thing... both coming up with a new name for yourself, and where you're going... without me knowing about it. If I don't know, Albus won't be able to weasel the information out of me.”

“You mean he can read minds,” Harry guessed.

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“Legilimency,” said Griphook, “Perhaps your headmaster is gifted with it.”

“What is it—”

Harry couldn't finish, as the door opened, and another goblin entered the office. This one was older than Griphook.

“I was summoned,” he said, gruffly.

“Barstock, good to see you again. I have a few matters that need to be settled regarding the estate...” Sirius began.

By the end of the meeting, Harry felt a little overwhelmed, if he were honest. There was what felt like a mountain of paperwork requiring his signature, including one which required the use of a rather special quill that wrote in the user's blood. Harry was most certainly startled at the instrument, but Sirius had put him at ease, saying, “It's only meant for document-signing. Using it for anything else is considered criminal.”

A privacy charm had been erected at one point, and Griphook had questioned Harry as to where he wanted to go, so they could sort out travel arrangements. His choice given, Griphook had written a short note, and placed it in the tray at the corner of the desk, where it vanished immediately.

The last thing to take place in the meeting, was the retrieval of the Heir's ring. It was a simple silver ring, with an emerald-coloured stone as the setting. When Harry slipped it on, it instantly adjusted itself to fit. Up to now, Harry hadn't really worn any sort of jewelry, so it was a first.

They went their separate ways in the lobby. Harry watched Sirius leave the bank altogether, and a fleeting image crossed his mind—a strange doorway with a curtain, fluttering gently in a non-existent breeze, Sirius flying back into it. Had he just seen his godfather for the last time? Part of him wanted to chase after him, to say good bye one more time, but... no. That was nonsense. They would be in touch in a few days by owl post.

In the meantime, Harry slipped the goblin-made bracelet on his wrist, and could feel the enchantment taking hold. He had one more errand to run, before heading off to Heathrow International Airport; his flight was scheduled for just after 8 o'clock.

The errand took him into Knockturn alley, hence the necessity of him applying the disguise while inside the bank. Knockturn alley was a most unsavoury place, and showing his face there as  _Harry Potter_ would not end well. He only had to remember the incident three years prior, when he'd been spit out the wrong gate, ending up in  _Borgin and Burkes_ . The folk in the alley were about ready to eat him alive, and likely would have, if not for Hagrid. Now, with his new disguise, by all intents and purposes, he looked like a much younger Sirius Black. He had longer, wavy dark hair that fell to his shoulders, a slightly taller but narrower face, and blue eyes. Sirius had changed the shape of his glasses, and so now, there was no hint of who he truly was.

Sirius had given him the address of a shop that sold second-hand wands, and it was there Harry now found himself.

“Can I help you?” questioned the surly shopkeeper, seeming to size Harry up.

Harry smiled, and put his left hand on the counter, displaying the Black heir ring. “I need a replacement wand.”

“OH. Uh, r-r-right away, Mr. Black,” the shopkeeper stammered. He'd actually taken a step back, and Harry couldn't help but smirk. Oh yes, the Blacks most definitely had a reputation, which still carried forward to this day.

The shopkeeper was gone in the back for several minutes, giving Harry a chance to look around. Much like Borgin and Burkes, the place had to be just as creepy, with artefacts and the like which the ministry would most certainly frown on. Was that... a baby's corpse, preserved in a bottle? Gods. Harry was ready to bolt for the door, screw the—

“Here we are, Mr. Black. They will likely not work as well as the wand you are replacing, but—”

Harry waved the shopkeeper off, and picked up the first wand in the offering. It was long... longer than his holly wand, with a light wood. He pointed it at the floor, and gave it a flick, resulting in a yellow flash of magic.

“Definitely not.”

He tried the next, this time getting a purple blast that sent several trinkets flying off a nearby shelf. The shopkeeper frowned, while Harry proceeded to try another. This one garnered no reaction at all. It might as well have been a wooden dowel, rather than a wand.

“What are you playing at?!” Harry hissed.

“I... apologies for the mix up. Say, I'll knock ten percent off the price.”

“Twenty.”

“But... all right,” the shopkeeper relented, while Harry picked up yet another.

This continued for nearly a halfl-hour, before he finally found a wand that would be suitable. It was of a red-coloured wood, slightly shorter than his holly wand, but... it worked half-decently.

“This one,” he declared.

“I'm sure you realize, Mr. Black, it won't be cheap.”

“I am quite aware, yes. There is one further item I require—actually two. The first, being a port key to Heathrow International Airport, and the second, being your silence. I will pay two-thousand galleons for those items.”

The shopkeeper blinked. A Black, being generous, not haggling over price? This was a new one.

“Deal.”

* * *

It was well after dark before Sirius returned to his mother's townhouse. Most of the Order had left by this point, but Dumbledore was still there. So were Snape, and Moody. Molly was puttering about the kitchen, but stopped, seeing Sirius enter.

“Where's Harry, Sirius?” Dumbledore questioned him, sharply.

Sirius glanced at the kitchen's clock, and gave a mad grin as though he'd just pulled off a grand prank. “Well, I should think he's on an international flight out of the country.”

“Of all the irresponsible things you could have done, Sirius Black!” Molly fumed, “Why?!”

“Because he's my godson,” Sirius answered, “And he asked for my help. And before you go on asking where he's going, I have no clue. I chose to be out of earshot when arrangements were made as to his destination, so as to avoid this exact line of questioning.

“You all were about to do to Harry the exact same thing you're doing to me. He's a fifteen-year-old boy, not some chess piece. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you realize just how shabbily you've been treating him. He needed his friends around, not being locked away with his horrible relatives—and don't think I don't know about how they treated him, Albus!”

“Sirius. It was necessary—”

“Yes, and I've heard that before. That's an excuse, and nothing more.” 

Sirius blew out a breath, and took a seat at the table.

“At this point, it really doesn't matter. I've taken steps to insure you'll keep your paws off him from here on out, the least of which being helping him leave the country. I think, if James and Lily were still alive, they'd flay you alive, Albus!”

“Yet as you said yourself, he's a fifteen-year-old boy, Sirius! And you've sent him out of the country on his own! How do you expect him to survive?!” Molly blustered.

“I think he's much smarter than you give him credit for,” Sirius shot back, “All of you too busy with your mollycoddling to realize that.”

“And his arrogance will only get him killed,” Snape sneered, “Just like his father...”

“One more comment like that, I'll throw you out of here on your arse, _Snivellus_ ,” Sirius hissed.

“Now gentlemen, let's not be at each other,” Dumbledore tried.

“Contrary to what notions people might have here, this is my house, and you are all guests. If Snape can't control his tongue, then he'll take it elsewhere.”

“Sirius, that's not productive,” Dumbledore admonished him.

“I have to assume you did more than just stuff him on a plane,” said Moody, gruffly.

“Oh yes, much more. I won't go into detail, but know that he's been very well taken care of. He'll return when the time is right... when he's had a chance to regroup and collect himself emotionally. The point being, he'll not be your poster child, your chess piece any longer, Albus. Unlike my worthless mother, I take care of family... and Harry is family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: We find out where Harry spends the remainder of the summer, and a terrible incident at the beginning of September has frightening implications.


	3. The Death of Harry Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We find out where Harry spends the remainder of the summer, and a terrible incident at the beginning of September has frightening implications._

**103\. THE DEATH OF HARRY POTTER  
August/September, 2005**

> “ _Life is an endless cycle of souls, swirling along the path of the universe, being reborn, but never truly dying before being reborn again._
> 
> _As long as this cycle continues, we will never really die.”_

_\- Ameila Wolfe_

_August 11, 2005_  
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

The past week had been more than stressful for the kids staying in the old townhouse. Sirius had most certainly informed them of what happened, but it didn't really put any of their minds at ease; they all missed their friend.

At present, they were all gathered in the back garden, wanting to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the house. The kitchen was presently off limits, as yet another meeting of some sort was taking place.

Their hushed conversation was interrupted, as a brown owl descended to land in front of Hermione, an envelope secured to one of its legs. Hermione quickly undid the string, relieving the owl of its burden, and it took off from whence it came. She let out a gasp of surprise, recognizing the handwriting.

_Hermione and all,_

_I know I probably should have written you much sooner than this, but it's taken me this long to get my thoughts somewhat organized. I've had much to think about since I left England last week, and only now can I really put some of it into words, if that makes any sense. I know everyone is likely rather upset with me, and in some ways I don't blame any of you._

_The thing is, no one has ever asked what I wanted, what I needed. I'm tired of being taken for granted, of being looked upon as nothing but a tool, to be wielded and then discarded. That's all Dumbledore and the Order—Sirius excluded—thinks I am. Well I'm not!_

_When Voldemort came back, I was simply shuffled off back to the Dursleys, left to my own thoughts—of course, on Dumbledore's orders. He forbade any of you from contacting me, afraid information might get into the wrong hands. I believe that's a load of dragon shit, because there were other ways we could have talked to each other. Besides, who is he to dictate what I do and who I talk to outside of Hogwarts?_

_Then, while trapped with my useless relatives, the ministry tried to assassinate me. Yes, Hermione, that's exactly what they tried to do. Let's not sugar-coat it. And when that failed, they hauled me in front of the full weight of the Wizengamot because I defended myself and my worthless cousin! I'm sure you all know very well the outcome by this point._

_Thing is, it all comes down to this. Wizarding Britain has made it quite clear they don't wish for me to be around, and so I oblige their wish. I won't tell you where I've gone, since it's very likely that information will land in the wrong hands—namely Dumbledore. Sirius thinks he can do something called legilimency—read peoples' minds. So don't take my choices the wrong way. But anyway, I'm presently taking some time to myself, enjoying some personal freedom. It's done wonders, I'll tell you that much._

_D'you know that, since I've arrived in... well, the place I'm in... I've not had all that many nightmares or the like? I typically sleep very well for a change. Maybe it's the fresh air or a new place, but... it's been very good for my mental state, I'll tell you that much._

_At this point, I plan on obtaining private tutors and teachers for my fifth year, and likely sit my OWLs next spring. You know this year's important, right? Of course you do._

_Anyway, guess I should say this, that I do miss all of you, and I wish I could have said good bye to your faces, but... with the Order swarming around the place, I couldn't risk coming back. If you guys want to keep in touch, give any letters to Sirius, he'll make sure I get them._

_You guys are my best friends and always will be._

_Love,_

_Harry_

“Well, who's it from?” Ron pressed.

“It's from Harry,” Hermione answered.

“He's all right? Where is he?”

“He didn't say.”

“Is he coming back?” asked Ginny.

“No, he's not,” Hermione answered, sounding frustrated. Perhaps some of the frustration was toward Harry himself, but really, the fault lay at the feet of the Order. They hadn't exactly supported him in the little time he'd been at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place... instead, they were treating him no differently than Sirius—a virtual prisoner.

* * *

_September 1, 2005_  
Ottawa Ontario, Canada

The last few weeks had been a stark contrast to the earlier part of Harry's summer. The past two weeks had been spent in Ottawa, Canada's capitol city, as there seemed to be an unending list of things to see and do. That had been the case when he visited Niagara Falls for a few days. And Toronto... same thing. Canadian locals were brilliant with making suggestions of things to take in.

Within a week of being in the country, Harry had revised his plan, deciding to take at least the remainder of the year for himself, then reevaluate matters come the beginning of January. As he was quickly discovering, Canada was an enormous country, and if he ever ran out of things to see and do there, he could always cross the border into the United States.

It hadn't taken him long to learn of the location of the Wizarding community, both in Toronto and Ottawa. Ottawa's magical community was somewhat smaller, and Harry quickly learned the Canadian ministry was actually located in Toronto. It was confusing, until he picked up some literature which gave a brief overview of the magical community.

Much like the non-magical nation, the English-speaking seat of commerce had been established in Toronto, long before it was named as such, and some time before Ottawa became the nation's capitol. Harry was no history buff, but it proved to be a fascinating day and a half, as he learned about the country he was visiting.

Of course, it also did serve somewhat of a practical purpose, in that he had a rough understanding of the basic law of the land. Last thing he needed was to be arrested and dumped into a ministry holding cell. He'd already suffered the indignity of a trial—something he wished to never repeat.

Back to the present, Harry had at last checked out of his room at the _Westin Ottawa_ . He'd debated about going with the much more expensive _Chateau Laurier_ across the street, but at nearly two-hundred dollars Canadian a night, he couldn't justify it. And all the same, the final bill for his stay in Ottawa was crazy expensive.

Not that it mattered a whole lot. The first time Harry had sent an owl back to London with the total of expenditures in Toronto, Sirius had only laughed in the letter back, saying, “ _Long as you're having fun, kiddo. Money's no good unless it's being spent. My dear old mother's about died twice hearing of your ongoing expenditures, so keep it up!_ ”

Harry had to smile at the memory, as he checked his bag at the Ottawa train station. He found it strange that the train station was actually some distance away from the downtown. Not exactly convenient. Alas, it didn't matter a whole lot; the concierge at the hotel was more then helpful in both arranging a train ticket, as well as a taxi to get him to the station. He'd left a rather sizable gratuity for the help.

Shortly after, while the _Hogwarts Express_ was already steaming northward, over four thousand miles away and five hours ahead of local time, Harry was at last on board a train heading back to Toronto, with the intention of taking in the _Canadian National Exhibition_ , or CNE for short, the largest of its kind in the country. Thus far, he'd been pretty lucky with tickets, being delayed only once in arranging passage. The bus, of course, tended to be much easier, but Harry preferred to travel by rail, given the smoother ride. In addition, travelling by train tended to be quicker.

He'd visited the local Wizarding shopping district the previous afternoon, dropping a letter in the mail for Hermione. He'd written express instructions on the envelope to not open it until she was on the train. “ _This will have to stand in for me being on the train with you_ ”, he'd written at the top of the envelope.

With thoughts on his friends returning to Hogwarts for another school year being shoved to the back of his mind, he took time to do more reading on various other things he might like to see. The CNE would be the first Muggle fair he'd attended, and he somewhat lamented the fact that he was doing it alone rather than with his friends. Maybe in the future...

The train lurched for some reason. They weren't near their destination, right? He remembered hearing Kingston, but... no there was a few other stops since. Yet, the train was beginning to slow.

“ _Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please. Due to mechanical issues with the train, we will have an extended stop at Oshawa. Passengers may detrain if they wish, but are reminded to keep their boarding pass on their person._

“ _Bon après-midi, mesdames et messieurs, si je pouvais avoir votre attention s'il vous plaît..._ ”

Harry tuned out the rest of the announcement, since he didn't speak french, choosing to turn back to the brochure. Of course, that didn't last long, as the train was indeed slowing down, the locomotive's bell now clanging, a warning they were approaching the station. Perhaps, then, getting out and stretching the legs might not be a bad thought.

Oshawa's train station was quite small, compared with the various stations Harry had already been through. The hall itself contained two separate sets of ticket windows. Three of them were set at an angle along the south wall, handling _VIA Rail_ customers. Four others were set up along the east wall, and they served the government-run regional transit system, _GO Transit_.

Since he was there, Harry collected a _GO Transit_ timetable. Perhaps it would be a little cheaper than _VIA_ . 'Well. Much more frequently,' he thought, as he ran a finger down the schedule. A train left for downtown Toronto in twenty-five minutes—and who knew when the _VIA_ train would be fixed. So, how difficult to make the switch?

Frustratingly, _VIA_ wouldn't refund the final part of the trip... but the fare to downtown Toronto on the _GO_ train was only six-fifty. And the train left in less than twenty-five minutes. So, it was an easy sell. He noticed he wasn't the only one making such a choice.

Stepping back outside, he noticed a poster plastered to the side of one of the newspaper distribution boxes. The top half of the poster featured a picture of a steam locomotive. It looked brilliant, save for the fact there seemed to be a giant sitting on it... wait a minute.

 

_LABOUR DAY WEEKEND_

_Live Steaming Days & Historic Equipment Exhibition_

_Miniature train rides, steam tractors, historic equipment,_

_Midway rides and games_

_10 am – midnight Fri, Saturday, and Sunday_

_10 am – 7 pm on Holiday Monday_

_Durham Live Steamers – 27 Bennett Rd., Bowmanville ON_

 

Now it all made sense. It was some sort of scale model railway. Harry had never heard of such a thing, but granted, considering his somewhat sheltered existence in the Muggle world up to this point, it was no wonder. Harry pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled down the information, deciding to perhaps check it out... maybe on Monday, the holiday.

As was expected, when the _GO_ train pulled out of the station heading west, the _VIA_ train still sat there, a number of passengers still milling around. Perhaps their final destination wasn't Toronto... so the regional system wasn't an option. At this point, it really didn't matter a whole lot to Harry. Hotel arrangements had already been settled before he'd left Ottawa, and given the fact he carried very little (at least visually), it was nothing for him to move about quickly.

* * *

_September 2_

Visiting the _CNE_ proved not to be the exciting adventure Harry had expected. The rides were kind of cool, although nothing like the exhilarating thrill that came from riding his broom. And, there were a number of them where the operators wouldn't let him ride alone. Even more irritating, was how rude some of the operators were. Didn't they understand the phrase, 'Customer service'? A number of the guys running the rides looked more like thugs and criminals, rather than ambassadors of the company. Harry decided he would be doing something else tomorrow.

Of course, the experience wasn't a complete washout. The air show, which had run earlier in the day had been fascinating. Harry was in no way familiar with the various aircraft that paraded about in the skies, but still found himself almost enthralled by the pilots' skills. In some ways, he could easily place himself in their shoes, considering he also flew, even if his 'aircraft' was only a thin stick with bristles and stirrups. Oh, and his flight speed was restricted to no more than a hundred and fifty miles an hour.

The human cannonball was immensely entertaining, as was the _SuperDogs_ competition. Harry had to smirk, watching the highly-skilled canines be put through their paces. 'Let's see aunt Marge's foul mutts do something like _that_ ', he thought.

The evening at last drew to a close, with a spectacular display of fireworks at the waterfront, and with that, Harry headed north across the grounds to get a streetcar back downtown. Of course, that was clearly the idea of about a hundred thousand others, or so it seemed, as the waiting platform was crammed with people and their hard-earned prizes from the midway. Gods, some of the stuffed toys were larger than the person carrying them!

* * *

_Saturday, September 3_

Harry had gotten up incredibly early, going on perhaps five hours' sleep. Taking advantage of the continental breakfast, he then made some inquiries about the live steam event in Bowmanville. Being that far away, perhaps it might be a thought to pick up a room in Oshawa, rather than travelling all the way back into Toronto. Equally, what was the transit service like out that way on a weekend (or a holiday, for that matter)?

As Harry had suspected, the service was poor at best. The _GO_ train actually terminated in a place called Pickering, with a bus connection to Bowmanville(1). The stop itself, at Hwy 2 and Bennett Road, nearly a mile and a half away from his final destination. No matter what, there was a lengthy walk involved. It was a good thing he'd gotten up early, then.

Finding a place to stay in Oshawa, on the other hand, proved a little less difficult. There were several motels not far from the train station. Recalling the less-than-stellar visit to the _CNE_ on the previous day, Harry realized it would have been better to stay in Oshawa. Oh well. Too late now.

It was 11:30 before he arrived at the event—an elderly couple had been kind enough to give him a lift, picking him up just south of the motorway. He'd offered a few dollars as thanks, but the kind couple simply waved it off. It once again made Harry smile, to be shown such a level of kindness.

The grounds themselves—clearly that of a private residence, were now crawling with visitors. On the other side of the road, a number of amusement rides were set up, and if Harry had to admit, the handful of rides being presented there looked in much better shape than the ones he'd seen the day before at the Exhibition. One of them looked insanely high, with two wheels attached to a larger main boom... “Skywheel” was scrawled out in an outlandish font on the side of one of the supports. A tractor trailer, if Harry remembered correctly. Hmmm... would they let him ride alone?

The main property seemed crammed with historic cars, farm equipment, and... he could see the miniature train off in the distance, with what looked like about twenty people sitting on top of the cars. For the first time ever, Harry felt more like a kid rather than an adult in a kid's body. He was already making a bee-line for the loading area, where people were queueing up for their turn. 'Yep. Definitely should have done this yesterday, rather than the CNE,' Harry snorted, in his head.

When he got to the front of the queue, he found a large donation box. Without hesitating, he reached into his pouch and summoned a fifty-dollar-note, and stuffed it in. Fifty dollars well spent, in his opinion. Better than spending money on tickets for rides he couldn't go on.

“Thanks for the d-d-d-donation.”

“Not a problem,” Harry grinned, turning to face the speaker.

He had to be Harry's age, if not a year or so older, with a rectangular face, slightly messy coppery red hair that fell just below his ears, and light blue eyes. And tall. Gods, the young man had to be at least six foot five. He was dressed in a pair of black overalls and a white tee shirt—at least, it had been white at one point, but was now specked with many black spots, much like the rest of him. He was dirty, and smelled like... coal smoke. Harry remembered that smell from the Hogwarts Express. One of the drivers, then.

“B-b-been a while since we g-got that kind of donation.”

“You drive one of the trains?”

“Y-yeah. My b-b... I mean, my friend's giving me a break. I'm Ryan, b-b-by the way.”

“Oh. It's Rasalas,” said Harry, offering a hand.

Ryan shook it, though rather weakly, then said, “S-sorry 'bout the weak shake. Hand doesn't w-w-work all that well sometimes.”

“It's all right. So... uh, you run this event, or—“

“There's a bunch of us, ac-ac-actually. I take it you've never sssss-seen something like this before.”

“Nope. But... it's fascinating,” Harry answered, “I spotted a flyer in Oshawa on Friday after the train broke down.”

Ryan let out a snort. “Leave it t-t-to _VIA_. It's what they get, skimping on the m-maitenence. Took them four hours to f-f-f-fix it, 'least that's what Da says.”

Harry could only grin. “Of course, I regret going into Toronto. Should've come here yesterday, instead of taking in the _CNE_. First time this summer I've actually been disappointed in an attraction—or group of attractions.”

“You're here alone?”

“Yeah. Since the beginning of August.”

Ryan let out a chuckle. “Usually it's us th-th-that's doing the tourist thing in your part of the www-world. So how you finding the colonies?”

“I'd make it permanent if I could,” Harry answered, “For reasons I don't want to get into.”

Ryan gave a weak smile.

“D-d-didn't mean to pry. Oh. Here comes Aaron. Let me in-in-introduce you.”

Aaron was as short as Ryan was tall. The guy was actually shorter than Harry was without his disguise—and Harry wasn't all that tall. He had a more heart-shaped face with a tall chin, brown eyes, and short hair, the colour of which Harry could only guess, it being so short. Most of it was covered by a wool cap, and he was dressed identically to his friend.

“New friend?” Aaron spoke with a rough, gravelly voice, and in a way, Harry thought it fit his frame.

“Th-this is Rasalas, he's visiting f-f-from England.”

“Oh. Well. Welcome. You been on anything yet?”

“He just sss-stuffed a fifty into the d-donation box.”

“Really. That's awesome, man.”

“Would it be possible for me to have a go on that?” Harry pointed to the Skywheel.

“Come on. Think we can take a break,” Aaron grinned.

* * *

All in all, it was an epic day as far as attractions went. In addition to the steam trains (Harry quickly discovered there were at least six running on the miniature track which circulated most of the property), there were three enormous steam-powered tractors, one of which was pulling a wagon that carried passengers. There were dozens of antique vehicles, about twice as many antique tractors, various pieces of antique farm equipment, and a handful of stationary steam engines.

The small midway also included a few concessions that offered poor nutrition choices, but most definitely yummy, greasy, sugary delights. Between Ryan and his friend, they had coaxed Harry to try all the rides, and by the time darkness fell, he was physically spent.

“Gods... it... I have to get the bus back into Oshawa,” Harry realized.

“N-uh-uh. We'll loan you a tent,” said Aaron.

“Many thanks. Wasn't looking forward to the trek back up to highway two. An older couple were kind enough to provide a lift down from the motorway,” said Harry.

They were then crossing the inner yard to the house. It was an older, two-storey home with large windows, a porch that seemed to drape itself around three sides, finished in white clapboard.

“Lots of p-p-people stick around over the weekend,” said Ryan, “Just a ssss-second, I'll be back.”

He climbed the few stairs to the porch, and disappeared into the house.

“So when you heading back to the U.K.?” asked Aaron.

“Don't know. When I wear out my welcome, I guess. I'm set financially, and there still seems to be a gazillion places to visit here. I mean, should that ever run out, there's always crossing the border into the States.”

“You're rich then,” Aaron guessed.

“Err... something like that.”

“Or a criminal mastermind.”

That had Harry giggling a moment.

“How about no,” he answered, seriously.

That only earned another laugh out of Aaron, as Ryan reappeared from the house, bringing a long box.

“C-c-come over this way, we'll help you set it up...”

* * *

Thanks to a few liberally-applied cushioning charms, Harry got a reasonably good night's sleep. He'd borrowed a telephone and settled his account back at the motel in Oshawa, since it was no longer needed. Ryan had invited him to stay for the remainder of the weekend.

So it was, that he awoke to the smell of breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausages, and a few other smells wafted across the grounds. Harry had to admit, it was a pretty good alarm clock, if his growling stomach was anything to go by. The typical continental breakfasts provided by the hotels would have nothing on a homemade, hot breakfast.

He pulled a pair of shorts on, along with a clean tee shirt, then crawled out of the tent; it was big enough that he could almost stand up inside, but the door made that a little awkward. Once outside, he got to his feet, and simply followed his nose.

Breakfast was being served under a larger, dark-coloured tent. There were a number of picnic tables set up, and a number of people were already enjoying the food being provided. He quickly joined the queue.

“mornin'.”

“Oh. Err... good morning,” said Harry, recognizing Aaron. He too, had gone with shorts and a tee shirt, rather than the overalls he was wearing the day before.

“You wanna give us a hand for a bit?”

“Sure.”

As they ate, Harry asked, “So this... event... you guys do it every year?”

“I've only been involved with it for a couple,” Aaron answered, “Ryan's my b-best friend, right. He pulled me into it, but I don't regret it. It's work, but it's a ton of fun.”

“I think no matter where I am next year this time, I'm coming back, an' maybe I'll drag all my friends over here with me. Much better than the CNE was.”

Aaron let out a snort. “Waste of money. Never mind how they skimp on the maintenance. 'least that's what Mr. Sawyer says—he's Ryan's dad, and an expert in... well just about anything mechanical, I guess. Had lots to say a few years ago when the Wave Swinger broke; a bunch of people got hurt.”

“Really?” Harry made a face. “I was on that the other day.”

“Oh, they've improved somewhat, but still. You're still takin' your life in your hands down there.”

When they finished, Aaron said, “You don't mind getting a bit dirty, no?”

“Long as there's a place I can get cleaned up.”

“Yeah, we have that.” Aaron grinned. “Ready to have some real fun?”

“Lead on,” Harry grinned right back.

* * *

_Late evening, September 5_

The past three days had gone by in a blur of food, conversation, rides, games, more rides, more food, and just a load of fun. Both the nights he'd spent there had been just as entertaining, with a large group of people gathering around a bonfire. It was definitely a first time activity for Harry, something he hoped to do again. Perhaps he would return the next year.

When the event closed at sundown, Ryan offered to drive Harry back into Oshawa, but he politely declined, not wanting to encroach on the family's hospitality any further than he'd done already. The walk back up to Hwy 2 would be a good thing, and since it wouldn't be all that difficult to get a hotel room in Oshawa, it wouldn't be a terribly long trip. They had still shared contact information, as Harry definitely wished to return the following summer if at all possible.

By the time he reached the overpass that crossed the expressway, it was nearly dark. Harry wasn't too concerned, knowing the bus still ran until late into the evening... it was only a little after 8 o'clock. Of course, if someone would give him a lift...

A battered truck drove past, and the brake lights came on. 'Great timing,' Harry thought.

A voice called out, “Where 'ya headed?”

Harry suddenly had the sense something was... off. But... no, nothing. He'd encountered nothing but friendly faces and warm hospitality since arriving in the country a month prior.

“Up to—“ he began to answer, when something struck him on the back of the head. His lights were out before he hit the ground, his arms flailing about.

“C'mon. The kid put a fifty in the Sawyers' donation box, he's gotta be loaded,” said an older man, climbing out of the cab.

“Hey, check this out,” said the passenger, kneeling down on their victim's left side, “Bet that ring's worth a fortune.” The others quickly joined him.

He reached down, and tried to pull the ring off, and was given the shock of his life for his efforts.

“Well? Let's see what he's got.”

He was younger than the others, and a little impatient, grabbing the satchel.

“There's got to be money in here.”

He turned the satchel upside down, and shook it. A few papers and a few small trinkets fell out of it, but no money. And why did it feel so light? The thug snatched up one of the papers that fell out, but flung it to the wind.

“Maybe there's an inside pocket or something,” suggested one of the others.

“Good thinking.”

The crook's eagerness was repaid in deadly kind when he tried to reach into the satchel. Since he was the one to initiate the attack in the first place, the goblin enchantments on the satchel meted out deadly consequences. There came a brilliant flash of angry flames, and the assailant and would-be thief was roasted to a crisp.

The surviving pair couldn't have _Apparated_ faster, retreating back to the still-running truck, slamming it into gear and peeling off with the squeal of tires. Harry was left at the side of the road on the overpass, the life slowly leaving him, much like day was giving way to night. With that very essence seeping away back to the earth from which it came, a number of spells and enchantments placed on him were either dispelled, or modified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _CHAPTER NOTES: (1) All-day service on weekends and holidays did not extend to Oshawa until the end of 2006. And still, to get to this location (Bennett Rd & Hwy 2), you would still need to take a bus, although currently it's out of the Oshawa GO station._


	4. The Birth of Rasalas Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry is saved from the brink of death, and rushed into Toronto by air ambulance; and from there, wakes up sometime later to a scary new reality. A pair of new friends he can barely remember provide much-needed support, and offer a clue as to the identity of the good Samaritan who came to his rescue._

**104\. THE BIRTH OF RASALAS BLACK  
September, 2005**

> _"The report of my death was an exaggeration."_

_\- Mark Twain_

Early hours,  
Tuesday, September 6, 2005  
401 Highway, west of Newcastle Ontario

The normally-busy 401 Highway was somewhat deserted at this particular hour of the night, with very little traffic—other than the odd truck. The holiday was over, and so was summer, unofficially. Students (at least most of them) returned to class that morning, and routines were reestablished after lengthy summer holidays.

That was neither here nor there, as a custom tour bus made its way westward, an eighteen-wheeler following not far behind. Brady Gibson was a relatively new artist on the country music scene, and was just now wrapping up the very short Canadian leg of his first headline tour. He had one more show in Toronto, before heading back into the U.S., and a lengthy break.

Even with the late (or early) hour, Brady was still very much awake, as they steadily rolled west. There was most definitely a comfortable bed in the back, but something... something was keeping him from rest. An unsettling feeling, like—

The bus was slowing suddenly.

“Why're we stopping?” Brady questioned.

“I saw... hold on...”

“ _What's going on?_ ” came the question over the radio, as the bus came to a stop.

“Hang on,” said the driver, pressing the button to open the door.

He stood up, and exited the vehicle, with Brady following close behind, hurriedly throwing on his jacket—the air had taken on a damp chill, the hallmark of a late-summer morning. The driver was shining a flashlight about and—

The pale face of a young man was momentarily framed in the beam of the light, before falling out of it. The sound of a soft body collapsing to the ground immediately followed. The driver hurried over, with Brady following.

The driver of the rig that was following behind the bus was hurrying over, bringing a much better light. He quickly focused the light on the scene, and both the driver and Brady were horrified by what they found.

It was definitely a young man—nineteen or twenty, perhaps. Blood was coming from his ears, nose, and mouth. There were also splotches of blood on his tee shirt, as well as scratches covering his arms and legs. A small pouch was still slung over his shoulder—it was a wonder it was still in place, considering what shape the boy's body was in. His eyes were open but non-responsive; he was quite literally out cold.

“Sweet Jesus,” Brady whispered, while the driver produced his mobile, and quickly punched in 9-1-1.

“We need to cover him,” said the second driver.

“Uh...” Brady took off his jacket, and covered the victim with it.

The driver of the bus, meanwhile, was speaking with the 9-1-1 dispatcher. “Ambulance... 401 highway westbound lanes, uh... just past... exit four-thirty-five... uh... head injury, I think...”

Brady, meanwhile, reached into the young man's pouch. His hand closed around a wad of bills... not helping. A clump of papers. He pulled them out, and while the second driver held the larger flashlight in a better position, Brady began leafing through them.

“Tourist flyers,” he muttered, stuffing them back in the pouch, and digging a bit more.

More papers. Wait. A concert ticket for Brady's show in Toronto on Tuesday night. The irony. That wasn't helping at the moment, though. He kept sifting through the receipts, spent train tickets, more flyers... ah ha.

“An address. Might be someone important.” He stuffed that one in the pocket of his jeans, and leafed through the rest. “The kid has'ta have I.D.”

He stuffed that batch of papers back in the pouch as well, and tried again. Third time was a charm, as his hand closed around a small, black booklet.

“Jackpot... a passport. An' this bag's fucked up.” He opened the passport. “Rasalas Antares Black.”

“The cops'll get things sorted out, 'B.”

It was some time before there came a wail of sirens, as a pair of police cars came roaring down the entrance ramp, an ambulance not far behind. They pulled up along the shoulder, before coming to a stop. The back doors of the ambulance opened, and two paramedics hopped out; one brought a backboard, while the other brought a medic kit. The spotlight mounted on one of the police cars lit up the scene a bit better, while the second car had reversed back to a point behind the rig, and put his lights on.

“What have we got?” asked the paramedic with the medical kit.

“He was wandering along the shoulder,” said the bus driver, “We stopped and he collapsed just as we got to him.”

The second paramedic had already placed the backboard alongside the victim, and was assessing injuries.

“He was walking alongside the highway?”

“Yeah. Until we got close. Then he just collapsed,” the driver answered.

“Shouldn't have been possible. Mike, have an airlift dispatched to Lakeridge Oshawa, he'll need to be sent to Sunnybrook.”

The paramedic named Mike pressed the key button on the mic portion of the radio. “Dispatch, we're on scene, requesting airlift.”

“ _Copy. What's your twenty?_ ”

“Westbound lanes of the 401 at Bennett Road, over.”

While the radio fell silent, a pair of police officers were asking Brady and the two drivers questions.

“ _Forty-two, is the patient stable?_ ”

“Uh, copy.”

“Ornge(1) _will pick up at Lakeridge Oshawa._ ”

“Copy.”

The second paramedic was already filling out a form.

“The victim have any identification?” he asked.

Brady handed over the passport he'd recovered, as well as the slip of paper with the address he'd found in the young man's pouch. The paramedic rapidly copied the victim's name down onto the appropriate place on the form, along with the particulars listed on the passport.

Now, with the help of the second paramedic, Harry was lifted onto the backboard.

“What d'ya figure happened?” Brady asked.

“This wasn't an accident,” said the first paramedic, as he glanced at the medical kit, now hooked up to the victim, “My experience, he was beaten.”

“My guess too,” one of the police officers agreed, “We'll investigate and determine where the primary crime scene is.”

One of the paramedics, meanwhile, was headed back to the ambulance to fetch the gurney. The incident was still surreal for Brady, as memories of his own brush with death came to the forefront. It was too easy for him to place himself in the shoes of the young victim, just barely clinging to life.

When the scene was finally cleared, and Brady was once again on his way with his crew, the incident still ate at him. Perhaps he was meant to be there... that God wanted him to be in a place where he could do some good—that Rasalas would benefit from it. No matter. He would have his P.R. people get in contact with the hospital and find out how the kid was doing. And he did want his jacket back...

* * *

“ _Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”_

“ _Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…”_

“ _Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—“_

“ _This is my last warning—“_

“ _Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry Please—I’ll do anything—“_

“ _Stand aside—stand aside, girl—“(2)_

_A brilliant green flash filled the scene, accompanied by a piercing scream._

 

The sounds around him were coming back into focus as the piercing scream faded, but the world remained incredibly bright and fuzzy.

“He's coming back to us, a weak pulse,” he could hear someone saying.

“Son? Can you hear me?” A fuzzy face was looking down on him, and he got the faint sensation he was moving on some sort of bed. Harry moaned.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Nuh... ow...” Everything hurt. That was the bottom line. 'Where am I?' he thought, but drew a blank.

“Just take it easy, young man,” came the voice of a woman to the side, “You've suffered a catastrophic injury.” A pause, and then, “Is radiology ready for us?” The world once again dimmed as he succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

When Albus Dumbledore rose the following morning and stepped out of the private bedchamber into his office, he stopped abruptly, as he was treated to a sight he'd hoped never to see.

All the small trinkets resting on his large desk were trembling, black smoke rising from each one of them. Meaning, the worst had happened: Harry had died.

The aged headmaster slumped into his seat behind his desk, eyes fixed on the smoking instruments. How had it happened? Where had it happened? But far worse, now what?

All of his plans still revolved around Harry Potter. Even though he had fled England, up to this point, Albus believed the boy would eventually return to them, and help to destroy the Dark Lord.

A gesture from his wand banished the useless trinkets. He took a few moments to collect himself, before summoning a few of his colleagues. Perhaps a few should know, but for now, he would keep the boy's death quiet.

* * *

September 22

The next time Harry came to, he was propped up on a bed, and he could feel a number of wires attached to him. A machine was making a beep-beep-beep sound off to his left, and the room was dimly lit. 'Where am I again?' he questioned in his head, and groped with the last memories he could remember. Flashes of scenes flicked by in his mind's eye, but nothing was making any sense. It was as if everything were scrambled somehow.

He lay there for some time, until eventually a nurse stepped into the room. “Good morning, young man. It's good to see you're at last awake.”

“Who... where?” Harry rasped.

“Let me get you a glass of water.”

The woman collected a paper cup from a cabinet above the small sink in the room and filled it, then brought it to his bedside. He drank it greedily.

“Where am I?”

“You're at _Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre_. You were brought in nearly three weeks ago with severe head trauma. It was touch and go for a while, but you should be making a full physical recovery.”

“Three weeks?”

He made to sit up, but the nurse put a hand on his chest.

“Do take it easy, Mr. Black, you've suffered major head trauma among other things. The neurosurgeon will wish to talk to you this morning, and conduct an assessment as to what sort of long-term damage has been done.”

'Black', Harry thought. 'But...' he wracked his brain, trying to remember his name.

“I... I don't remember...”

“It's one of the things the neurosurgeon will go over with you. And I would expect a pair of young men to be visiting you later this afternoon, they've been in to spend time with you nearly every day since you were admitted.”

“Young men? Do... I don't remember.” Harry sounded frustrated.

“Wait.” He looked down at the covers drawn up over his chest. “I... I don't see all that well.”

“You need glasses.”

Harry simply gave a nod.

“We'll set you up with an optometry appointment then. Just giving you any sort of eye wear might further damage your eyes.”

As promised, just after he finished his breakfast, a doctor entered the room. He was short, with balding grey hair and a broad face.

“Mr. Black, how are we feeling?”

“Better, I guess... from what the nurse told me.”

“Yes, indeed. You've had quite an ordeal. I'm Dr. Terry Smythe, and I'm a neurosurgeon here at Sunnybrook. We did run a CT-scan when you were brought in, and as we feared, you have suffered a brain injury.”

“That's why I don't remember anything, then.”

“Yes. You understand our brains are very fragile organs, correct?”

At Harry's nod, the doctor continued, “It takes very little in the form of a bump or jerk to do damage to it. Given the severity of your injury, there is no surprise you remember little about yourself or the past events of your life. This may be a sign of a type of memory loss, what we call _Retrograde Amnesia_.”

“Will I get better?”

“Every patient is different. There's a chance you'll wake up one morning remembering everything clear as day, and there's a chance you won't. We still know so little about the brain, you have to understand.”

“What... what does that mean for me, then?”

“Let's just worry about getting you back on your feet before we start to think long-term. When the time comes, we'll set you up with an occupational therapist.”

“What will they do?”

“Arrange for housing, set you up with schooling or help you prepare for a job, it's entirely up to you what kind of assistance you can obtain.”

Harry half-grinned. “Oh. Well... that would be good, then.”

“Now. Since you appear to be in relatively good spirits, I assume you aren't feeling any pain or discomfort.”

“No sir.”

“Good, that's good. Perhaps there was a silver lining with you being in a coma, as your body was given a chance to heal without interruption. You were in very rough shape when you arrived.”

“Yeah, so the nurse told me,” Harry agreed, “But... remembering nothing. I think I'd rather be in pain.”

“Perhaps. I think we do need to establish what memory you do have. Your being able to communicate is a very good sign. You remember then how to look after yourself... visit the lavatory—”

Harry made a face. “Uh, yeah. Guess I should be thankful for that. I still feel...”

“Overwhelmed? It's understandable. And yes, having to re-learn basic personal function would be rather humiliating.”

The doctor still ended up asking a series of questions, to determine how much Harry remembered. It did mostly focus on issues of self-care, and most certainly, Harry wasn't all that comfortable answering. Still, understanding it was important, he answered honestly. The doctors were there to help, and dishonesty would get him nowhere.

When the finally doctor left, Harry adjusted the pillows to prop himself up. Three. Weeks. He had been unconscious for three weeks. But honestly, that wasn't the most alarming thing. He didn't even know his own name, other than his last name being Black. And... magic. He remembered vividly flicking a stick—a wand at a feather, causing it to rise into the air. And... a boy with blond hair and a pointed face, conjuring a snake. That... that was a few years ago, though.

Wait. Where were his things? His wand would likely be with them. Surely he hadn't come into—

The answer to his question was collected on a chair in the corner. A small pouch that slung over his shoulder, and... whose jacket was that, hanging on the back of the chair? It might be his, but... where were the rest of his clothes?

* * *

A nurse entered his room shortly after Harry had finished his lunch, and helped him into a wheelchair. The optometrist was on a different floor, and since it was impractical to move the machinery, the patient had to be brought to the equipment. He could see several set-ups, arranged for patients sitting or laying down. Being awake and able to stand (or sit), Harry was led to the upright apparatus.

For the next half hour, Harry's eyesight was tested by the equipment, the optometrist making a number of notes. Once the tests were finished, he was wheeled back up to his room.

He was only alone for a few minutes, when a pair of young men stepped into the room. The first one was seriously tall, with ginger hair partially hidden under a baseball cap that was shoved on backwards. He wore a tee shirt with a dark long-sleeve shirt over top of it, and a pair of work pants. The other was somewhat shorter, with a stocky build, though they dressed very similar. He had dark hair and brown eyes.

Harry suddenly got a flash of a memory... rather fresh, as though it had happened very recently. The taller of the pair, being filthy, driving a miniature train.

“Rasalas?” the tall one spoke.

Harry looked at the floor, ashamed. In the pit of his stomach, he knew he should know their names.

“I'm sorry. I... I don't remember either of you.”

“D-d-don't worry 'bout it. The doctors didn't want us in here, but—“

“Ryan's dad sic'ed the lawyers on the hospital. I'm Aaron.”

“And I'm Ryan.”

“You... you were driving a really small train.”

“Three weeks ago now, yeah. I'm sorry I d-d-d-didn't push harder to drive you back to Oshawa.”

“He's been beating himself up over it, I keep telling him it's not his fault,” said Aaron.

“Whatever. My penance, is that you come back to my place once you're rrrr-released.”

“Oh. Well, err... thanks.”

Harry/Rasalas still looked confused. It was like the memory was there, but just outside of his reach.

“Dude. Seriously, you look better without those nasty glasses.”

“Unfortunately I can't see without them. Lifetime vision problems, I think.”

“Doesn't mean you can't get sss-something better.”

“The optometrist ran a bunch of tests earlier. So if I can get better frames, yeah, I'll go for it. Wait...”

He looked around, then pointed to his things.

“Err... could one of you fetch me my things?”

“Sure thing.”

Ryan crossed the room, and collected the pouch and the jacket, then lay it on the bed within Harry/Rasalas' reach.

Harry/Rasalas reached in, and was momentarily confused as his hand closed around... was that a box? Ah, of course. The pouch was magical. He could feel a number of things inside, including... ah ha. A change of clothes. The leather jacket still confused him though.

First though, he needed to locate his wand—found it. Wait. That wasn't right. His wand was different... so where did this one come from? And money? Right, there it would be.

“Jesus, you're loaded, Rasalas,” said Aaron, seeing the wad of cash in Harry/Rasalas' hand.

“I'll need to pay for new glasses for starters.”

“We'll come with you,” Ryan offered.

“I would like that, I think.”

“So, uh, you don't remember anything?” asked Aaron.

“I get a few flash memories, but... nothing that really makes sense,” Harry/Rasalas answered, as he picked up the jacket. He held it close, taking in the smell. Definitely not his, as he didn't smoke.

“Does this belong to either of you?” he finally asked.

“Nope,” said Aaron. “Hold on. Turn it around a 'sec.”

Harry/Rasalas flipped it over so the back was showing. There was a large 'rebel flag' patch that took up the centre of it.

“Weird... it's not just a jacket,” he noticed.

“Damn. I know exactly whose jacket that is. You got a famous admirer, Rasalas,” Aaron smirked, “Unless you somehow stole it.”

Harry/Rasalas frowned. “Yeah, right. So who does it belong to?”

“Country singer named Brady Gibson—at least I think it does. God, how in the world did you get his jacket though?”

Harry/Rasalas shrugged, before slipping the jacket on. It was quite heavy, and somewhat expected, considering it was actually two separate items. There was a patch at the bottom of the right sleeve that he couldn't make out, and a second patch up closer to the shoulder depicting an eagle with its wings spread. The shoulder straps had tiny spikes protruding from them.

“So is his music any good?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Ryan made a face. “Dog howling m-music.”

That had Harry/Rasalas giggling, while Aaron gave his friend a swat. Aaron cleared his throat, but grinned.

“What kind of music you like?”

“Uh... well... dunno, really. Not sure if it's a 'don't remember' thing, or just... that I've never really formed an opinion.”

As he was speaking, he was pulling out the various receipts and pieces of paper from the pouch.

“Well this is bizarre. You said Brady Gibson?”

“Yeah.”

“I had a ticket to his concert in Toronto,” Harry/Rasalas answered, showing them the unused ticket.

Aaron had an 'ah ha' moment.

“He... they must've found you on the side of the road. You were found early on September 6th, and... he would've been coming from Ottawa, so... I bet anything, he... or his tour crew... found you.”

“Famous person or not, I owe him a big thank-you... and I will have to return this...” he said, gesturing to the jacket. It was a bit big anyway.

“No m-man, you look cool in it,” said Ryan, “Only give it back if he asks f-f-for it.”

“Thing is, it'll be a while before we can deal with that anyway. Did they say how long they wanna keep you?”

“No, not yet. Doctor was happy with the answers I gave him though... he asked me a boat-load of questions about what I remember... if I can look after myself, I guess.”

“Yeah, that would m-m-make sense,” Ryan agreed, “You—d-d-damn. You stayed there?”

He'd spotted a receipt from Toronto's Royal York Hotel.

“I... uh... well, the receipt says it was for a couple of nights. And at that price... God. How was I paying...” he looked at the receipt again, then reached into his pouch, pulling out a pair of plastic cards. “All right. Things make sense now.”

“Damn. Looks like a platinum card,” said Aaron.

Harry/Rasalas passed over the pair of cards, so Aaron could get a good look at them.

“Gringotts? Never heard of them. But it's a VISA... Damn. And a MasterCARD. Dude. Like seriously. Your parents are probably freaking right now.”

Harry/Rasalas nodded sadly. Aaron was right. How many people out there were looking for him? How many friends did he have? How many of them were going stir-crazy with worry?

“Thing is, if your Ma and Da are smart, th-th-they'll put a trace on the c-c-cards, so soon as they're used... they'll know, sssss-see.”

“Maybe one of the things you can do is retrace your steps,” Aaron suggested, “Revisit the places you've got receipts for, see if being there jogs your memory.”

“Yeah, I like that,” Harry/Rasalas agreed, “Err... what do you guys do anyway?”

“Oh. Well, we're still in school, actually,” Aaron answered, “Ryan's in his last year, I'm a year behind.”

Harry/Rasalas looked disappointed. “Guess I'll have to tackle this sort of thing on my own, then.”

“Not if w-w-we do it on the weekend. It'll be a b-b-bit slower, but...”

“Yeah. That works. And don't worry about the cost, I'll cover it,” Harry/Rasalas said, once again producing the wad of bills from his pouch.

“My first stop would be that bank... Gringotts or whatever it is. At least find out what your credit limit is.”

It was after dinner before the pair left, but if anything, Harry/Rasalas felt better about where he stood. Perhaps the largest booster being, he wasn't alone. Sure, there was a lot of uncertainty, but Ryan was more than willing to help out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas is released from the hospital, and the Sawyers learn about his unique abilities as he settles in. Days later, he meets his occupational therapist, but the meeting is interrupted by an unexpected guest._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: (1) Ornge is the name of the air-ambulance service in Ontario._   
> _(2) Deathly Hallows, Canadian Soft-cover edition, p.281_


	5. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas/Harry is released from the hospital, and the Sawyers learn about his unique abilities as he settles in. Days later, he meets his occupational therapist, but the meeting is interrupted by an unexpected guest._

105\. THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP  
September 30 – October 4, 2005

> _“Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: 'What! You too? I thought that no one but myself...'”_

_\- C.S. Lewis,_ The Four Loves

September 30, 2006

Finally, Rasalas was discharged from the hospital. The neurosurgery department had run more than a few tests, and were able to ascertain that he retained most of his motor-skills, and the knowledge needed to function independently. His clearest memory came from when he was still a toddler, although the doctors most certainly questioned the validity of it, given what he was describing: a tall, dark-haired man with blue eyes who was able to turn into a dog? They simply wrote it off as a misinterpretation of something that had happened to him at a young age.

Ryan, on the other hand, had a strong suspicion of his new friend's real ability. After all, he'd most certainly seen Rasalas pull a number of things out of his pouch, and by basic spatial reasoning, deemed the capacity of Rasalas' 'magic bag' quite literally impossible. Of course, up to this point, he remained silent on the issue, knowing he would eventually have the chance to ask about it.

Near the end of his stay, he was connected with an occupational therapist. She was quickly introduced to Ryan and his friend, considering everything had been arranged so that Rasalas would stay at the Sawyers' for the immediate future. The therapist worked out of Newcastle, and so was within easy reach. It would only take her about ten minutes to get to the residence. She was already putting resources in order so things could get rolling in short notice.

So it was, that just before lunch time, Ryan arrived to pick him up. Given it was early on a weekday, it was only Ryan who showed up—usually he and Aaron arrived much later in the day because they were both still attending school. With the signing of a few forms, Rasalas was at last able to leave the hospital. Ryan could tell the young man was more than eager to leave the place. They'd wanted him to use a wheelchair, but Rasalas insisted on walking out. He wasn't an invalid!

It ended up being a bit of a walk, since Ryan had to park in the back lot. The vehicle turned out to be a nearly restored 1977 Chevy Suburban. The body was mostly a cherry red, with the lower body being white.

As they pulled out onto Bayview Avenue, Ryan said, “You couldn't www-wait to get out of there.”

“Going stir-crazy, yeah,” Rasalas agreed, “I can't thank you guys enough for your help.”

“Ma's actually looking forward to having you. She's wwww-worried about having an empty nest... though it's not like I'm going anywhere.”

Rasalas furrowed his brows. “Empty nest?”

“Oh. Uh, means nnnn-no more kids around.”

“Right. But... your mum's still a bit young. She could—“

Ryan burst out laughing.

“Goddess no. After me, sssss-she all but vowed one's enough.”

They turned off of Bayview Avenue, heading east along Eglinton Avenue, another very busy street.

“So much traffic,” Rasalas muttered.

“It is a bit nuts. I dddd-don't care for coming down here. Up to last month and your accident, I didn't have any rrrr-reason to come into the city.”

“S-sorry.”

“Hey, don't worry about it. It's all cool in th-th-the end, right? Besides, you could've ended up... well, who knows wwww-where, really.”

“Yeah, that's true,” Rasalas agreed.

They fell to their own thoughts as they drove east, finally entering the access ramp to the Don Valley Parkway, a busy expressway that would take them north, up to the far busier 401 Motorway. God, there was so much traffic, Rasalas again thought.

As they merged with traffic on the busier freeway a short while later, Ryan said, “Your, uh, b-bag, it's unique.”

“Very,” Rasalas agreed, though he wondered where his new friend was going with the conversation.

“Ma says magic manifests itself in mmmm-many ways. The doctors believed you should've d-d-d-died from the injury. So you're either pretty lucky, or—“

“Magic,” Rasalas finished.

He thought for a moment.

“What do you know about... well... magic?”

“Probably nothing as extreme as th-th-the bag you own, but... I think you'll know the second you step into the house. Ma practices the old religion.”

“The old religion?”

“She... and I too... we worship the mother goddess. I think... wwwww-well, the best example will be at the end of next month with the Samhain celebration.”

“You mean Halloween.”

“Halloween is a modern incarnation of it, bbb-but many of its traditions come from the earlier Celtic celebrations.”

Rasalas fell silent for a few moments, his head momentarily flooded with a brief memory.

“Rasalas?”

“It... well... it was a memory. There was this enormous room... I think your house would probably fit inside it. And there were like a hundred jack-o-lanterns with candles in them, floating about the room, with hundreds of live bats.”

“Coming from anyone else, I'd call bbbbb-B.S.,” said Ryan, “From you, it sounds awesome.”

“It was. The tables were filled with tons of sugary treats. But... I can't remember exactly where it was... other than it was Halloween.”

Rasalas thought for a moment.

“My ability's pretty rare. I mean, it's okay if your best friend knows... and your parents... but other than that, it really has to be kept secret.”

“You have my wwww-word.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Why do you stutter?”

“Surprised yyyy-you didn't ask about that sooner,” said Ryan.

“I figured it was something rather personal, and, I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable—“

“No, it's all ggggg-good. See, I did something rather dumb when I was ssss-six, or more like, I was someplace I shouldn't have been. I touched one of Da's tools, and it was electrified. It's why I don't grip things all that well with my right hand. Something like five hundred volts dddd-direct current.

“My arm got badly burned, and my heart actually ssss-stopped. 'Least that's what Da tells me.”

“Oh. Rotten luck then.”

“School isn't all that fun. People made fun of me not being able to string a sssss-sentence together without sounding like a retard.”

“Then they aren't worth knowing,” said Rasalas.

That earned a weak smile out of Ryan.

“Exactly what Aaron says. His friendship's been a godsend. It's made the last couple years of ssss-school bearable.”

With moderate traffic, it was over an hour before they got back to the house. As they crossed the yard, Rasalas closed his eyes, trying to see if he could remember the last time he'd been there. Considering it had been rather recent. To his frustration, the only solid memory he had was of Ryan driving the small steam train.

“C'mon, l-l-let's go inside and get you settled.”

As Ryan had promised, the moment Rasalas crossed the threshold of the doorway and entered the house itself, he felt a warm tingle run down his spine, that was soon after replaced by an equally warm feeling that simply said, 'welcome'. Indeed, there was magic at play in what seemed like a very much non-magical household.

The main room looked mostly modern, with a high-end television off to one side, with a couch and a few comfortable chairs arranged for viewing. The opposite wall featured an enormous fireplace, with a fire crackling away in the grate. Seeing that triggered another flash memory of a similar grate... and...

  
“ _He'll be all right, Mum,” a gangly, ginger-haired boy was speaking, “Rasalas, watch us first.”_

_He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the pot an older woman was holding—the boy's mother, Rasalas realized—stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames._

_With a roar, the fire turned emerald green, and rose up taller than the boy, who then stepped into it, shouting, “Diagon Alley!” —and vanished.(2)_

  
“Rasalas?”

“Sorry. Just...”

“Another mmmmm-memory,” Ryan finished.

“A fireplace exactly like yours... except, well, people were using the fire to travel to places. The floo network,” Rasalas said.

“Really?”

“It's weird, I know.”

“How fast?”

“I dunno, I don't remember actually using it myself, but... likely a lot faster than using the bus.”

“Mr. Black. Welcome.”

Rasalas turned to find Casey had stepped into the room from what looked like a kitchen. He'd already met Ryan's mother on a few occasions, since she had to sign a few forms saying it was okay for Rasalas to stay at their residence.

“Mrs. Sawyer—“

“Call me Casey, dear.”

“Well. Uh. Again, thank you for seeing after me, it's greatly appreciated.”

“Ryan was pretty insistent that you come stay with us, after your ordeal.”

“I keep telling him it's not his fault, it could have happened anywhere,” said Jason. “I guess if anything, I'm lucky that it happened here, rather than in the middle of nowhere with absolutely no one knowing who I am.”

“All things happen for a reason, Rasalas. The Goddess has a plan for you.”

“By clobbering me over the head and leaving me for dead, with no memory of my life up to this point? Not exactly a sane plan.”

Casey smiled weakly.

“There is something to be learned from this. How will you face the challenge you've been presented with?”

“Ma said the same thing tttt-to me, when I was recovering from my accident.”

“And I continue to remind you of it, Ryan.”

Casey thought for a moment.

“Let me show you to your room, and you can get settled.”

The room was a little small, but comfortable, with a dresser, a twin-size bed, and a small desk. There was a small closet to store the few things he had.

“My room's rrrrr-right next to yours, and the bathroom is at the far end of the hall. D-d-don't worry about the hot water, it's an endless supply. One of Da's little inventions.”

“Thank you.”

Rasalas took off his 'borrowed' jacket, and the pouch, and laid both on the bed, before beginning to pull a number of things out of it. This had Casey watching with rapt attention.

“How... how in the world?!”

Rasalas only smirked, pulling his broom out of it. He'd had a look at it one night in the hospital when everyone thought he was asleep, even with it in miniature form. Of course he could remember a few bits and pieces about flying on a broom.

“You c-c-c-can fly it,” Ryan guessed.

Rasalas gave an enthusiastic nod.

“It was a gift. I can't remember from who, but...”

He thought for a moment.

“How private are we here?”

“We have neighbours about a half-kilometre east of here,” Casey answered, though her eyes were still fixed on the broom in the boy's hand.

“I'll have to keep close then. After dinner, I'll show you how this works. One thing I'm glad of, that I didn't lose important knowledge. Would've been downright embarrassing had people had to feed me and so on.”

Rasalas placed his broom on the small dresser, before continuing to search his pouch.

“Ah. If you thought the broom was cool, how about this?”

He produced a strange-looking cloak. The fabric shimmered in the light, appearing something akin to water. He simply smirked, before slinging the cloak over his shoulders. His body instantly vanished, being covered by the fabric.

“JESUS CHRIST!” Ryan managed, while Casey actually felt her knees grow weak at the concept.

“Goddess preserve us...”

“I could've escaped my captivity at the hospital a while ago, but, err... well, didn't want to worry anyone,” Rasalas smirked, before pulling the cloak off and laying it on the bed.

“I'm not sure how much more of these little surprises I can take, Mr. Black. A real wizard of the arts...”

“Had you not been a witch in your own right, I wouldn't be sharing this. I felt the ward when I stepped into the house.”

“Ward?”

“I'm not sure how strong it is, but... it was as though I walked through a jet of warm air. But the point is, you wield the arts, though in a different manner than mine.”

Rasalas reached into his satchel once again, producing his wand. He knew this was not his original wand, but considering it worked perfectly, he didn't complain.

He pointed it at the cloak, then gave the wand a swish and a flick. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

The cloak instantly rose off the bed to hover at eye-height.

“This is my method of practising the arts. My, uh, catalogue of spells is rather small, but... at least I remember that much.”

The charm was dispelled as he turned his attention away.

“One of the things I'll need to do, is get in contact with the magical community. My magical knowledge is rather limited. And, perhaps they might know of how to get in contact with my family. Unfortunately that's something I can't just blatantly ask someone about. Like I said, we're very rare and there's not many of us... at least compared to non-magical people.”

Ryan simply nodded. “Your secret's safe with us.”

“Err... where's Aaron?”

“He'll b-b-be here soon, school's just let out,” Ryan answered.

“Oh. Of course. Keep forgetting you guys have classes.”

At dinner, he once again met Phillip, or Mr. Sawyer (he still found it hard to call them by their first names). The patriarch had been tied up with a crew, providing on-site service at a construction site in downtown Toronto. Seeing Phillip, Rasalas now understood where Ryan got most of his appearance from, including the height. Rasalas once again found himself giving a brief explanation of his abilities, which didn't seem to bother the man all that much. Granted, his wife was a witch, so, of course it wouldn't.

When dinner was finished and the dishes spirited away to the dishwasher, he collected his broom, anxious to take it for a flight, even if it was brief. Of course, the family followed, curious to see him actually fly.

“Should we have nnnnn-nine one one on speed dial?” Ryan teased. Aaron gave him a swat for his effort.

“Uh... no,” Rasalas answered, as he put the broom between his legs, and easily lifted off, putting his feet in the stirrups.

“Dude... that's awesome.”

“Flying... something I sort of remember,” said Rasalas, as he gained a little height.

“That's fascinating,” said Phillip, “And others have brooms, I assume.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure of that,” Rasalas agreed.

He pushed the broom a bit, and briefly picked up speed. It was only a half-minute before he circled about and returned. He took it slow, not wanting to crash and hurt himself... or worse, make a fool of himself. Why did it feel like it had been so long since he'd been on the broom?

At Ryan's unvoiced but obvious question, Rasalas said, “Once I get a better handle on flying, I'll take all of you for a ride. Just... I feel like... it's been some time since I've been flying, and I'd rather be fully confident in the air before I take passengers.”

“That would make sense,” Phillip agreed, “That looks to be something very similar to driving.”

“I wouldn't know, sir. I've never drove a car.”

“Well, that's one of the things we'll want to change.”

“Definitely,” Ryan agreed, “Like seriously, you've nnnn-never drove a car.”

“I. I don't know, honestly.”

Rasalas dismounted his broom.

“Ryan's been driving since he was fourteen,” said Phillip, proudly, “Passed his exam on the first try.”

Ryan's face flushed.

“Thanks, Da.”

Rasalas could only grin, seeing the interaction. It was clear both of Ryan's parents adored him. How did he get along with his own parents? It had been nearly a month since he was nearly murdered. Were they still pounding the pavement, crushed with grief, as they frantically searched for him?

* * *

October 4

Mid-morning, a white sedan pulled into the private driveway of the residence. Rasalas had met with Ashley Peterson on numerous occasions, but this would be the first time the occupational therapist called on him at the Sawyers. Most definitely, she'd already been to visit on a couple of occasions, while Rasalas was still recovering in the hospital. As admirable as was the family's intentions, Ashley wanted to be sure it would be a good fit.

The Ministry of Social Services had also asked a number of similar questions, but in the end, it was up to Rasalas, since he was over the age of sixteen. Canadian law did state that someone sixteen or older had the right to decide where they wanted to live.

It was Casey who met the woman in the parlour, and guided her into the living room, where Rasalas waited.

“Do I need to stay?” she then asked.

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“Just call if you need anything.” Casey then headed through the dining room, and into the kitchen.

“So you're settling in here okay?” Ashley questioned.

“Yeah, so far. It's weird, right... one of the few memories I remember at all, was being here. Ryan says I was here for most of the weekend. But it feels like... I somehow belong here. Both Phil and Casey have made me feel really welcome... treat me like a part of the family.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Though I've already said this before... I have to say it again. You need a stable environment in order for you to continue to heal.”

“So far it looks like I've lucked out.”

“Then we shall move on. First up. Do you have any immediate questions or concerns?”

“Any word on my parents, my family?”

“I somehow figured that would be your first question. Unfortunately the answer is no,” Ashley answered, “And I know you're frustrated with that side of things, but sometimes, these things take time. Canada is a big country, as you realize, I'm sure.”

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Then let's move on to the next item. I'm still working on getting you in to sit a General Aptitude Test Battery, or GATB for short. We need to figure out where you stand academically, then we can see about getting you into school, whether it be independent study, or with an adult school.”

“Yeah, that would be brilliant—”

Rasalas looked up, hearing another vehicle pull into the driveway. It was too early in the day for it to be Ryan and Aaron—they'd only left for school an hour or so ago. He craned his neck to see out the window.

A black truck had pulled up alongside of Ashley's car, and its occupants quickly got out. The driver wore a dark suit, and seemed to be looking around the grounds, while the other... he wore a jacket similar to the one Rasalas now had upstairs. He wore a dark baseball cap, pulled low, almost hiding his eyes, a pair of jeans, and a pair of boots. They were making for the door, and seconds later, there came a knock.

Rasalas had a suspicion of who it might be, but stayed put, letting Casey answer the door. He still considered himself a guest, after all. She hurried into the parlour, and out of sight.

“Yes?” he heard her ask.

“This the Sawyer residence?” came the question. It was spoken softly, slowly, though he had all the time in the world. Well, maybe not quite, but.

“How can I help you?” asked Casey. Rasalas couldn't help but grin, hearing her Irish accent contrast with the speaker.

“Uh, ma'am, I'm lookin' for Rasalas Black.”

“And you are...”

“Oh. Brady Gibson, ma'am.”

Now, Rasalas got up.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, before hurrying into the parlour.

The man in the suit had remained outside, but Brady had stepped into the parlour. He'd pulled off his cap, revealing a nearly-shaved head. He had a pear-shaped face, with a thin, neatly trimmed beard. His ears stuck out a bit, and both were pierced. Rasalas had to grin, imagining himself doing something as outlandish.

“Mr. Gibson, Rasalas Black,” Casey introduced.

Brady offered a hand, and they shook. Rasalas guessed Brady was just an inch or so taller than he was—but thin. Wow, the guy needed to eat...

“I... well, I guess the first thing I must say, is thank you,” said Rasalas, “You saved my life.”

“More my driver than me,” Brady answered.

Ashley had come in from the living room.

“I'll return tomorrow, it seems you might have something a little more important to attend to,” she said.

“S-sorry,” Rasalas apologized.

“No, don't be. Uh, Mr. Gibson, I presume.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“I'm Ashley Peterson, Mr. Black's occupational therapist. I'd ask you not to agitate or upset him, he's still recovering though he's been released from hospital.”

“I don't plan on it. Been wantin' to meet Mr. Black since... uh, well, when this all went down. Hospital wouldn' have any of it.”

“As is standard practice. Family only, they're a bit strict about that.” Ashley checked her bag one more time. “I'll return tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Ashley,” said Rasalas.

She gave a nod, before leaving.

“All right. Come into the living room, make yourself comfortable. Err... Mr. Gibson, can I get you anything?”

“No thank you.”

Brady was removing his jacket, revealing a dark tee shirt under it. His left arm was covered in a few tattoos. Rasalas also spotted the few chains and necklaces he wore. Casey, meanwhile, passed into the dining room, and came back a few moments with a mug.

“My son's friend knows who you are,” she said, sitting in one of the comfortable chairs. “I somewhat do, and... you're a long way from home.”

“Georgia,” Brady answered.

“The United States,” Rasalas remembered, to which Brady gave a nod.

“Cops thought you was beat up.”

“I... I don't know,” answered Rasalas, sadly, “Whatever they did to me, it's left me with no memory of who I am. I could be a deranged psychopath for all I know.”

That earned a scandalous look from Casey, and a chuckle out of Brady.

“Rasalas, you were nothing but a polite young man over the weekend before you were attacked,” said Casey.

“So you don' remember nothin'?” said Brady. At Rasalas' nod, he said, “That really sucks.”

“You have no idea. These guys are being really kind, allowing me to stay with them until I get my feet again. But... you came all the way from the southern U.S. to see me?”

“Yeah, that's about it.”

“Why?”

“'cause I've been there, where you are. Bein' near death, and comin' back from it,” Brady answered, seriously. “Listen... uh... you had a ticket to my show back in September... an' it ain't right, you missin' it on count of stupid shit like this.”

Casey gave Brady a sharp look.

Rasalas smirked.

“Ryan warned me she likes to use particularly nasty soap when he uses curse words.”

Brady rubbed the back of his head and gave a sheepish grin.

“Bad habit. Uh, but anyway... I'm offerin' to give you an' a few others a private show, if you'd like.”

“I'd have to talk to Phil,” said Casey, “I'm assuming you would want to do it here.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“That would be wicked. Aaron let me hear a CD of yours. I think he's more a fan than Ryan is, but...” Rasalas thought for a moment. “Would it be just you, or would... well—”

“My guys'll be comin' up, too,” said Brady.

“Give me a moment, I'm going to get Phil to come join us.”

Casey stood up, and left back into the dining room again. Rasalas, meanwhile, could only shake his head.

“Can't believe you came thousands of miles just for me.”

“I had my P.R. people keep checkin' on ya, see. 'an I learned a couple days ago you was let out of the hospital. The tour was done in Toronto, so it was nothin' for me to fly up here.”

“I know you're important and all—“

“I didn' just drop everythin', if that's what you're gettin' at.”

“Oh. Well, good. I just don't want people feeling sorry for me. Angry for me? Yeah, I can take that. But not sorrow or pity,” said Rasalas, “And know that if I ever figure out who is responsible... let's just say there are worse things than death... maybe see how they like it when I make them pick which memory—”

He stopped talking, realizing he was about to reveal something he shouldn't.

Brady looked at him funny.

“What?”

“Never mind. Err... overactive imagination.”

“They'll all answer to God when their time comes, Rasalas.”

Rasalas hummed. “But seriously. You just dropped everything to come see me... and offer to give me a private concert. It's a brilliant show of kindness, but—”

“I'm off, takin' some downtime, so no I didn't just 'drop everythin'. Nothin's important right now... other than bein' here, showin' you a little support.”

“I'm not... ungrateful. Just... surprised, I guess. My gut tells me I've not had much of that in my past life. Maybe that's why it's so hard to just take at face value.

“Some part of me... a nagging feeling in the back of my head... it's throwing out the question... what do you get out of it?”

“Givin' back to a potential friend,” Brady answered, “See, I don' have fans, I have friends.”

“Oh. Well... that makes more sense then.”

They heard the front door open, and moments later, Phillip Sawyer stepped into the living room, with his wife in tow. He wore a set of full coveralls that were smeared with grease in more than a few places. The smell of the shop had followed him.

“Brady, this is my husband, Phil,” Casey introduced them, as both Brady and Rasalas stood up.

“Casey tells me you'd like to hold a private concert here.”

“Yeah, that's about righ', sir,” Brady answered.

“Hmmm... I can agree with that. Though... we generally have a live steaming day at the end of the month.”

“The miniature steam trains,” Rasalas remembered.

“Exactly. Though we have a private... ritual after sunset. But... if we pull the Ride Enthusiast group from Pickering in, and a few other guys from the club, we should be all right.”

“So, not so private,” said Brady. “Shit can get expensive. Security, uh... gon' need P.R. here...”

“Well... I'll help pay for it,” said Rasalas.

“You still need to find out what your credit limit is,” said Casey, “Events like this are terribly expensive. Phil, are you sure we can handle something like this? This'll be over and above our Labour Day weekend event.”

“We'll have lots of volunteers, dear.”

Casey took a sip of her tea. “Well then, Mr. Gibson, it looks like you have a venue. I'll need a few details so we can get the lawyers working on permits from the township... and where are you staying?”

Brady had to think a moment, before answering, “Uh, near the highway... there's a Harley Davidson dealer next to it.”

“Ah. The Travelodge,” said Phil, “I know where you're staying. Or were. We've got extra room and you're welcome to stay here.”

“Phil...”

“He's likely gonna need to be here, honey.” Phil smiled sweetly. “And beside the fact, you've wanted a house full of guests.”

He then did something that made her jump.

“ _Phillip Sawyer!_ ”

That had Rasalas smirking, and Brady let out a chuckle.

“We could let the pair of you have the room,” Rasalas grinned.

“No, my husband needs to keep his hands to himself in the presence of company,” Casey muttered.

Rasalas felt his face get hot, and Brady cleared his throat.

“Y'all sure I'm not imposin'?”

“Mr. Gibson, it would be an honour for you to stay with us.” Phil thought for a moment. “How long are you allowed to stay in the country?”

“End of November.”

“Okay. That's one less thing you'll need to worry about. I'll show you the business office in a bit, feel free to use whatever you need to. And we'll hook you up with our commercial attorney—though you likely have your own lawyers.”

“Yeah, I got a few. 'an the label's gon' need to know.”

“Label?” Rasalas wondered.

“Record company,” Brady clarified.

“What about the guy who's with you?”

“Security. I got at least one guy, but if y'all are cool with me stayin', I won't need 'im.”

“We'll bring on security anyway, the week before the event. Once we set up the rides and bring out the antique equipment... some of dates back to my grandfather's childhood,” said Phil.

“So it's gonna be exactly like back on Labour Day weekend,” said Rasalas.

“Identical, yeah. With the addition of Mr. Gibson's show. Though I think you should hold your performance on the Sunday.”

Brady gave a nod.

“Well, uh... lemme go get my shit an' check out,” he said, getting to his feet.

“Try and make it back for lunch. I think both Ryan and his friend should be back—my son only has a half-day today,” said Casey.

Rasalas watched as the black truck left the driveway. His head was still spinning somewhat, with what had just happened. Someone famous had just dropped everything to come see him. He still couldn't wrap his head around the concept. Brady had come of his own free will, to do something nice for someone he'd not met directly, and only through a tragic set of circumstances. He expected nothing back from it. How did that work?

In spite of it all, he couldn't help but grin. The guy had a funny accent, and if Rasalas were honest, he could listen to the guy talk all day and all night... never mind sing. No matter what, it was likely the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Preparations continue for Brady's concert at the Sawyers; and a letter from Gringotts leads Rasalas to discoveries of his own true identity, along with answers to a few other important questions._


	6. Identity Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Preparations continue for Brady's concert at the Sawyers; and a letter from Gringotts leads him to discoveries of who he actually is, along with answers to a few other important questions._

106\. IDENTITY REVEALED  
October 4 - 10, 2005

> _“Careful what you wish for, you may just receive it.”_

  
_\- unknown author_   


Both Ryan and Aaron were more than surprised when they'd arrived home for lunch to discover they had a new guest staying with them. Neither of them had much to say about it, other than to greet Brady warmly. Aaron most definitely knew who he was, but said little otherwise.

The bigger shock came from the reason for Brady being there. Initially, Ryan thought the idea was nuts—less than four weeks' notice?

“W-w-we're still in school, Da,” Ryan reminded his father, “We won't be able to help out, 'cept on the w-w-weekends.”

“We'll make do, son. But expect things to get very busy around here for the next while.”

“What about the ssss-shop? The business—”

“It'll be worth it,” said Phil, “I've already put a message with the staff, that we're on emergency contract only until the end of the month. No casual jobs until the start of November. We're in semi-holiday mode.”

The remainder of the week proved to be absolutely chaotic, as Ryan's parents both worked with Brady, making arrangements for the concert. It was really short notice, and the lawyers from all sides were making more than a few complaints about it, but none of the parties were outright saying 'no', which was a good thing.

As breakfast was wrapping up Saturday morning, Ryan and Aaron invited Rasalas to join them in the locomotive shop.

“W-w-we have a bit of work to do on the Y6B,” Ryan explained, “Had to pull the atomizer after a run day two weeks ago.”

“Atomizer?”

“Better you see it than we try and explain it,” said Aaron, “But without it, the locomotive won't get very far.”

“Check the diesel storage tanks as well, I think we may need to schedule a delivery,” said Phil.

“Both the l-l-locomotive shop and the main shop, Da?”

“Yeah. We'll need the supplementary power supply on the weekend if we're running the rides.”

“Rides?” Brady asked.

“We've got about six carnival rides we usually only get to set up once, maybe twice a year. If we're making this a weekend event, we'll be setting those up,” Phil explained.

“Cool.”

“Oh, it's v-v-very cool,” Ryan agreed, with a grin. “I mean, every kid's d-d-dream to have his own carny ride, right?”

“Yeah, somethin' like that,” Brady agreed, with a grin of his own. “So, uh... mind if I come along?”

Ryan smirked. “All w-w-work and no play make Jack a d-d-dull boy.”

In addition to the main commercial shop which was situated north of the residence, there was a smaller shop to the east of the house, and that was where Ryan, Aaron, Brady, and Rasalas were headed. It somewhat resembled a small barn, but had a large roll-up door, as well as a regular steel door.

“You probably don't remember it,” said Aaron, “But we did let you see this stuff back at the beginning of September.”

“I do remember the engine a little bit,” said Rasalas.

“You got a train in there,” Brady deadpanned.

Ryan smirked. “Yup.” He fumbled with a set of keys, and ended up dropping them. “Right hand... useless ssss-sometimes,” he muttered, bending down to pick them up. Finally finding the right one, he pressed it into the lock, and opened it.

“Let me check the diesel situation,” Aaron volunteered. “The atomizer shouldn't take too long to fix, right.”

“No, it shouldn't. And y-yeah, I do plan on putting it in steam. R-r-rather make sure everything's working right when we're n-n-not working a deadline.”

“Watch your step, lots of clutter here,” said Aaron, as he flicked on the light switches.

Indeed, the back part of the shop was a mass of crates and boxes, which the four of them had to navigate around before—

“Bloody hell...”

Rasalas somewhat remembered the enormous miniature steam engine the Sawyers had, but to see it for real...

“Damn...” Brady was equally impressed. “Y'all built this?”

“Yeah,” Ryan answered, “Me and Da finished it a couple of y-years ago.”

The floor was sunken on the right side of the shop, with two sets of raised rails. On the far right side, sat the machine in question. It was easily ten feet in length, and if Rasalas had to guess, the track width (or gauge) was six inches.

“This... this really exists? I mean, I know it's a scale, but—”

“Norfolk & Western... a railroad that operated m-m-mainly in Virginia and West Virginia... this was their p-p-primary motive power... at least until they changed over to diesel. It was the most powerful steam locomotive on the continent.”

Both Brady and Rasalas were then having a closer look at the monster engine. It had two sets of cylinders which drove four axles a piece, a two-axle pony truck, and a two-axle trailing truck. In essence, it was two locomotives rolled into one, beneath an enormous boiler.

“I pity the bloke who had to fire such a beast,” Rasalas declared.

That earned a chuckle out of Ryan.

“These things had automatic s-s-s-stokers. There's no way any mortal could ever k-k-k-k-keep up with its appetite.”

“This model, on the other hand, burns diesel fuel. Here, look at this,” said Aaron. 

He gestured to an assembly laid out on what was obviously the driver's seat, perched on the front end of the tender. The part had two pieces of copper tubing protruding from it. One end of it had a pipe sticking out of it that narrowed down to a point, which had been blackened with soot.

“It's called an atomizer. See, this line—“ he pointed to one of the copper tubes, “—carries the fuel, while the other—“ he pointed to the other, “—carries steam.”

“Or air,” Ryan cut in, “While we're starting, we use c-c-c-compressed air until we have enough steam pressure. The steam or air blend with the diesel and it burns in h-h-here.”

He gestured to the opening to the firebox.

“I seen a few steam engines,” said Brady, “Nothin' like this though.”

“If you're a good guest, we might let you drive,” Aaron smirked.

“Aaron... p-play nice. Uh... th-this won't take long to put in... w-w-why don't you show these guys how to do the l-l-lubrication?”

Aaron gave a nod. “Rasalas, go grab the two oiling cans and the grease gun, they're on the workbench.” He pointed to the workbench on the opposite side of the room. “And I hope you guys don't mind getting a little dirty.”

Brady gave a shrug. “Shit washes off, right?”

“Touche.” Aaron had opened up a small box at the back of the tender, and pulled out a small tin. Rasalas, meanwhile, collected the oiling cans and the grease gun.

“Good. So this is how it works.” Aaron began pointing to a number of places on the first set of drivers. “Each little... nib, like these... they get a squirt of oil. Let me see one of the oiling cans... great.” He put the nozzle of the flexible end from the can on one of the nibs, then pumped the can once.

“And the grease?” asked Brady.

“Here.” Aaron pointed to a depression which was accessed through the spokes of the back driving wheel. “It's a little awkward to get to, but the driving axles get one pump each.”

“Got it.”

As they worked, Rasalas smirked quietly to himself. This was a lot of work... too bad he couldn't just pull out his wand. He'd have the lubrication completed within a matter of seconds. However, with Brady there, that was out of the question. As it stood, he was still unsure of how to deal with the guy. His reasoning seemed to be genuine, but still. It came back to a nagging feeling in the back of his head. What did he truly want?

“Heads up... gonna p-p-put a match to it,” said Ryan.

He was already unreeling a hose from the wall. He plugged it into a connector on the left side of the engine, and went into the box at the back of the tender. Aaron, meanwhile, had set down the wad of cotton (or whatever it was) he was using to polish the few brass parts. He reached up and pulled a flexible metal tube from a housing in the ceiling, and set it over top of the chimney.

“Right. Here g-g-goes.” Ryan fiddled with a couple of valves at the left side of the cab, one of which brought about a slight hissing noise. He then stuffed a wad of rags into the firebox, and set them alight with a long lighter, causing a cloud of black smoke to come out from under the engine's firebox. He then fiddled with one of the valves again, curbing the amount of smoke.

“Doesn't mater how m-m-many times I do this, it still smokes crazy. Watch out...”

He then cracked open yet another valve, and there came a heavy 'whump', with an orange glow being temporarily cast on the floor, as fire seemed to roar out of the firebox from at least five different places.

“It lives,” Aaron smirked, while Ryan again adjusted the second valve. The fire stopped blazing out of the firebox, and satisfied with the settings, Ryan shut the door.

“How long's it take?” Brady asked.

“To reach operating pressure? A half hour, m-maybe,” Ryan answered. “So... uh, why don't you g-g-guys go with Aaron, get a couple of passenger cars out. An' we'll need to check the track before we run.”

“The cars are stored in a separate shed,” Aaron explained, as he opened the large roll-up door on the east side of the building.

Sure enough, the two tracks led out to a small turntable, with tracks leading off of it directly east, and a set of tracks leading away directly north. That track led to what looked like a miniature hoist mounted on a larger guide track of its own.

Along the track heading east, there was a switch leading to a side track, which ran into a smaller shed. Aaron led them around to the opposite side of it, where tracks led away from it once again, to meet up with the siding further along.

It took about ten minutes to pull out a pair of passenger cars. In this case, they looked exactly like a set of heavyweight sleepers that would have been built in the late twenties. There were four small cushions affixed to the roof of each car, with matching stirrups that protruded from the lower frame.

With the two cars coupled together, Aaron then brought out one final piece of rolling stock, this one being a miniature replica of a parlour-observation car. It had only one seat affixed to its roof, and the text 'CREW ONLY' was stenciled on it in yellow letters.

* * *

As both Rasalas and Brady found out, putting the locomotive in steam effectively ate up the day. Everyone most certainly had a go at the throttle, and immediately after lunch, Phil joined them, if only to take a boat load of pictures for the steam club's website.

Finally, as it neared 4 pm, the engine was returned to the shop. Then, while Rasalas and Brady put the cars away, Ryan and Aaron looked after shutting the engine down, and doing a basic cleaning. Storing the cars away only took a few minutes, so Rasalas headed for the shop, with Brady following.

At this point, Ryan had the smoke box door open, and he was using a long brush to clean out the numerous flue tubes that ran through the length of the boiler. Aaron, meanwhile, was wiping down the outside of the engine with a wet rag, getting rid of the black soot that had settled on it.

“How often do y'all do this?” Brady asked, as he tracked down a towel to wipe his hands.

“Once a month at least. There's sometimes a private event, or the club guys bring out an engine to try out. But at least once a month,” said Aaron.

“This was fantastic,” Rasalas grinned, “I'll definitely give you guys a hand during the... what are we calling it, anyway?”

Both Ryan and Aaron looked at each other.

“Shit. Knew we were forgetting something.”

“Well, it's Brady's gig, right?” Aaron pointed out.

“Promotional's workin' on it,” said Brady.

“Well... th-that makes sense,” Ryan agreed, as he pushed the sweeping brush through another tube.

Aaron, seeing he was distracted, picked up the air hose, aimed it toward the back of the firebox, and opened the valve wide as it would go.

_POOOF_. Quite literally, a cloud of soot bloomed from the smoke box, hitting Ryan full in the face.

“Ooops,” Aaron smirked.

“Fucker.”

In retaliation, Ryan reached down, picked up a rag that was practically dripping with grease, and flung it at his friend. Rather than avoiding it, Aaron simply snatched it out of the air, and flung it back. Now the fight was on, as the pair exchanged shots of... well, whatever messy substance they could get their hands on.

It was only natural that both Rasalas and Brady got suckered into it—Brady being last, and only after being nailed with a soot-covered rag. He'd taken revenge by grabbing the grease gun , jamming it down Ryan's shirt, and giving it a squeeze.

“Great Caesar's ghost...”

The four of them stopped dead, finding Casey looking on, appearing undecided whether to be amused or cross. The four young men were absolutely covered in dirt, oil, and grease. Hair, hands, face, nothing was free of the mess. Brady had lost his cap, and it looked like someone had smeared grease and soot over the top of his head. Ryan's face was completely black, as was some of his hair. Aaron, too, had lost his hat, and it looked like someone had dumped a container of oil on him, as it streaked down his neck and face.

“I was just about to tell the four of you to... oh good grief.”

“Err... apologies,” said Rasalas, sheepishly.

“When the cat's away, the rats will play,” said Aaron, with a shrug.

“Wait until your father sees this...”

“He'd probably take a p-p-picture, Ma.”

“At any rate, I am about to start dinner. The lot of you get cleaned up, it'll likely take you until dinner as it is.” Casey shook her head and pursed her lips at her son. “Good grief, boy.”

As she left, Rasalas couldn't help but grin, while he wiped the mess off of his face. It had been the most fun he'd had since... well, he wasn't sure.

“We didn't mean—“ Ryan began.

Rasalas cut him off. “First time in months I've done anything remotely entertaining. Though. This crap's gonna be a nightmare to get out of our hair. C'mon, we'd best get cleaned up, 'fore your mum yells at us again.”

Ryan arched an eyebrow. “You're cool with my Ma yelling at you?”

“Doesn't bother me any.”

“So this a normal thing?” asked Brady, who was also trying to get the mess off his face.

“Well... once in a while,” answered Aaron.

“C-c-come into the big shop, there's showers and pumice soap to get the grease off.”

“Gon' need a change of clothes.”

“We all will, I think. God, never expected...” Rasalas trailed off, as he couldn't help but grin at their appearance. It was hysterical, in a way.

“Where'd my hat go?”

“Fell under the workbench,” said Aaron, who was still looking for his own.

Rasalas grinned. “You look better without it.”

“No, I feel naked without it,” Brady answered.

“M-m-maybe he sleeps in it.”

That earned Ryan a rude gesture for his effort.

* * *

October 10

For the first time in well over a week, Rasalas found himself almost alone. Both Phil and Casey were tied up in the business office, along with Brady, as they continued to plan out the event at the end of the month. So, Rasalas essentially had the house to himself after breakfast. For the time being, he was happy to watch the telly, and have a bit of alone time. Of course, he found it a little odd, the house being so quiet—

A tapping at a nearby window pulled him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the source of the noise, to find a brown owl sitting outside, with a—was that a letter tied to its leg? Rasalas opened the window and let the bird in.

“I... I guess this is for me.”

The bird seemed to bob its head in agreement, so Rasalas undid the string, and collected the letter. He wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd encountered this sort of thing before, but came up empty.

“This... this is how magic people send letters?”

The bird seemed to nod again.

“Oh. And... whoever sent this... they want an answer.”

The bird once again nodded.

“Well... come on then. We need to go to my room. There are people here who shouldn't know about this.”

Rasalas held out his arm, and the owl lifted off to land on it. Then, wizard and owl climbed the stairs to his room, where he then opened the envelope.

_Dear Mr. Black,_

_This letter is to inform you that Albus Dumbledore is attempting to make withdrawals from the Potter account. Until we receive instruction from you, such transactions have been declined. How do you wish to proceed?_

_Garokat,_

_Senior Account Manager,_

_Gringotts, Toronto Branch_

Rasalas frowned. The Potter account? This had him confused, since his last name was Black. Perhaps, this 'Garokat' would be able to shed more light on the situation. He pulled out a sheet of writing paper and a pen, and composed a reply.

“I guess you were sent from Gringotts, then. Take this back to Garokat,” said Rasalas, securing the note to the owl's leg. The owl fluttered up to the window sill, and looked at him expectantly.

“Oh. Right.”

Rasalas opened the window, and the bird flew off, quickly disappearing into the low cloud cover. As he shut the window, Rasalas then wondered how long it would take for the owl to return to Toronto. Ryan said it was about fifty kilometres—roughly thirty miles. So likely a couple of hours at most. Rather efficient, considering the non-magical post tended to take at least a day, usually two or three.

There came a reply about two hours later, this one being delivered by a screech owl.

_Mr. Black,_

_We are somewhat perplexed that you do not remember how to locate our branch, since you have been into the bank on August 6. However, we have included a port key that will bring you to our customer receiving area. Simply tap this letter with your wand, and the item will be produced. The activation phrase is 'profit'._

_I await your timely arrival._

_Regards,_

_Garokat,_

_Senior account manager,_

_Gringotts, Toronto Branch_

A port key. Oh. Right. Rasalas most certainly remembered that—hadn't there been an incident a few months ago? He tried to remember, but could not. And, perhaps maybe it was better he didn't.

He quickly scribbled out a note to the Sawyers so they wouldn't wonder where he got off to, and left it on the dining room table, before tapping the letter with his wand. An empty soda can flashed into existence—most unusual, Rasalas thought. Gripping it tightly, he whispered, “Profit.”

He landed most awkwardly in an opulently decorated room, and a voice to his left practically demanded, “State your business.”

Rasalas shook the cobwebs out of his head, and focused on the speaker. A goblin. Right. Innate knowledge he hadn't lost.

“Err... Garokat has asked to see me, and sent a port key.” Since he still held the letter, he simply showed it to the goblin.

“Very well. Show this to a teller, and you will be taken to his office,” said the goblin, pointing through the wide doorway. Rasalas could see a large counter on the opposite side.

“Thank you for your help.”

Minutes later, he was shown into an office by one of the tellers. It was somewhat unnerving, to be dealing with people—if they could be addressed as so—who were less than half his height. But they did have control of his money, so he knew he had to play nice.

“Mr. Black. I am Garokat. Have a seat,” said the occupant of the office, indicating a pair of chairs. The goblin was ancient-looking, that was certain. The office itself matched the decor of the rest of the bank, with an enormous desk taking up the back of it.

Rasalas took a seat, while the teller excused himself.

“Now. Your letter has us more than concerned. Given your status—”

“Excuse me,” Rasalas interrupted, “But... see, I was attacked at the beginning of September. They beat me to within an inch of my life, and well... the doctors called it... um... retrograde amnesia.”

“I see,” said Garokat, frowning. “One further reason I would advise you to seek legal counsel sooner rather than later. A Muggle attacking a wizard is a serious offence.”

“I'm still finding my feet,” said Rasalas.

“It does make matters a little more difficult. Hmm... you were given a goblin-enchanted bracelet.”

“I... don't remember if I was or not.”

“Curious. Your magical core appears to have somehow absorbed it and the enchantments altogether. Most unusual.”

“If... if it wasn't meant... I mean... I'll cover it if—”

“It was already bought and paid for, Mr. Black,” said Garokat, “It is only a curiosity. In that case, I would also suggest you get in touch with a healer. I am aware Muggle medicine is capable of some astounding things, but your healers are still superior in most instances.”

“Can they help me get my memory back?”

“Perhaps. Either way, I can relay to you a few important details about yourself, and a few people that may be concerned as to your whereabouts, namely your godfather.”

“Godfather? What about my parents?”

“First, you do need to know of your true identity. The bracelet you were given actually provided you with a nearly-unbreakable disguise,” said Garokat, gesturing at the desk with a finger.

A stack of newspapers appeared. Rasalas reached over, and picked up the first copy. The picture at the centre of it featured a portrait of a teen-aged boy, looking uncomfortable for the camera. He had dark hair, green eyes, and round glasses. The headline above shouted, “BOY WHO LIES?”

“Who is this?”

“That would be you, Mr. Black. Or should I say, Mr. Potter. Your birth name is Harry Potter,” Garokat explained, producing another folder. “You were born at the end of July, 1990(1), to James and Lily. A little over a year later, they were both murdered by a dark wizard. We're aware of some of the details surrounding the events, but your godfather, Sirius Black, will be in a much better position to explain such things to you, and perhaps lend support, given the sensitive nature.”

“Oh.”

Garokat passed the folder over, and Rasalas glanced at it a moment.

“Why am I not Harry Potter any more?”

“An incident over two months ago saw you flee magical England wearing the disguise you now have, with the help of Gringotts. Your godfather knows of this, and assisted in getting you out of the country, though at this point, he does not know where you are. He's sent more than a few missives to the bank, concerned about your well being, but we were prevented from revealing your location without your permission.”

“I... I need to think about this a bit before... well... is there a way I might get a letter off to him, through the bank?”

“That can be arranged, for a small fee. We are not a post office, Mr. Black.”

“I am aware of that. But... I realize the bank also knows what discretion means. If I decided I needed to be hidden... to vanish... it looks like I got my wish, and then some.”

“Indeed, that is a sound conclusion. We have a binding contract which forbids us from revealing your name, or location without your express consent.”

“For now... I'm going to uphold that. However, is there a possibility there could be a clause added which allows for notification in the event something happens? I'll leave contact information, and... hmm... just not sure how this might work, considering I'm at present staying with non-magical people.”

“I see.”

“They've been nothing but kind to me since I met them at the beginning of September.”

“Then, another reason you should seek legal counsel. A law witch or wizard will be able to come up with options.”

“Where would I begin... I mean, where would I find law wizards?”

Garokat touched a finger to a page of parchment, then slid it across the desk. “You'll find a list of reputable law witches and wizards to pursue at your leisure. Though once again I stress, you should hire one as soon as possible. There are those who are attempting to claim your estate as I speak, believing you to be dead.”

“This 'Dumbledore' character.”

“Being one of them, yes,” said Garokat, while Rasalas snatched up another newspaper from the pile. The witch in the picture on the far right side of the page... he'd seen her before. She resembled a toad, for some reason. That was the instant thought that crossed Rasalas' mind, as he read the headline:

#  _DARK DAYS AT HOGWARTS_

_English Ministry-appointed Teacher named High Inquisitor_

**London (AWP(2))** \- In a move that has more than a few witches and wizards on this side of the Atlantic shaking their heads, the British Ministry of Magic has passed legislation naming Delores Umbridge the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, declaring, “A new era dawns at Hogwarts”. 

Ed Wallace, head of the Canadian Ministry's Department of Education, has gone on record stating, “The English ministry's fear mongering has reached new heights with this latest piece of draconian legislation, turning a hallowed place of learning into nothing better than a concentration camp straight out of Nazi Germany.” 

The enacted legislation allows Umbridge unprecedented authority at the prestigious magic school, including conducting audits of school activities, as well as audit and fire instructors...

“Did... Did I go to this school?”

“Until the end of last year, yes,” answered Garokat.

“May I have this?” At the goblin's nod of assent, Rasalas rolled it up and put it in his pouch.

“I guess the next question is, how deep are my pockets?”

“Even without the help of your godfather, the Potter estate is incredibly wealthy. Let me see...” Garokat made a gesture at a page of parchment on his desk, causing it to glow momentarily, before he then slid it across the desk.

Rasalas picked it up, and was momentarily held speechless, as he read the account summary. “Five hundred million galleons in coin alone?”

“Not including a number of investments. Those figures do vary from day to day, so an exact total is difficult. The physical assets of the estate effectively double the final numerical total, as you see on the right side of the parchment.”

“And including assets from my godfather?”

Garokat made another gesture with his hand, producing yet another parchment. Rasalas read that, and was further stunned. “T-two billion galleons. Bloody hell...”

“Between the Black and Potter accounts, you and your godfather account for about seven percent of the wealth stored with us.”

“So I shouldn't have trouble hiring a law-wizard.” Rasalas thought for a moment. “My education. I assume... well, I assume I should be taking some sort of magical schooling.”

“Yes, indeed. You should have began your fifth year of schooling at the beginning of September. Once again, your law-wizard will help you get such details sorted out. Though you most certainly could attend a school here, you may wish to study independently, given this would be your O.W.L. year.”

“O.W.L.?”

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels. They are a series of examinations administered toward the end of a student's fifth year. This year is essentially a review.”

“Oh. I see.”

Rasalas thought for a moment.

“After my... well... when I was released from the hospital, I was assigned an occupational therapist. She's setting me up for a series of aptitude tests. Should I still take them?”

“It depends on what you want to do, Mr. Black. Canadian witches and wizards most certainly do continue with their non-magical education—at least, as far as half-blood and first-generation magicals are concerned.”

“All right. That makes sense, I guess.”

The meeting lasted another two hours, with Garokat outlining some of the basic things Rasalas needed to know. Not only did he provide him with the list of law-wizards, he also gave him a list of useful book titles to look up at the bookstore.

So it was, that Rasalas left the bank, and quickly located a Wizarding bookstore, across the street from the bank. Going with the goblin's suggestions, he purchased everything on the list. If anything, Garokat had been incredibly helpful. He had a nagging thought in the back of his head, that such behaviour was unusual coming from a goblin. Maybe he'd lucked out.

The list of law-wizards, meanwhile, included both addresses, floo addresses, and in most cases, telephone numbers. Right. So that sort of thing, he could do from the Sawyers. He'd have to be careful, of course, making sure Brady was elsewhere while such calls were being made. Last thing he wanted was to have to Obliviate him.

The trip back to the Sawyers proved to be a bit of an adventure, given he hadn't requested a return port key. Then again, even if he had, how would he explain his sudden appearance. If Brady saw it... Rasalas realized that likely, the guy was going to learn about magic. Staying in such close proximity, with a number of pressing matters now coming to the forefront... it was just an inevitable discovery. Given, Aaron knew of his secret, but... even that was illegal, if his shattered memory was right. Non-magical people were not allowed to know. It was a hard and fast rule.

It was nearly dinner time before Rasalas returned to the Sawyers. He'd ended up taking the _GO Train_ and bus, being let off at Bennett Road. Wait. Hadn't he done that before? No matter, he stepped into the parlour, and just in time, by the smells coming from the kitchen, along with the voices coming from the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas meets his solicitor, Kate Lewis; Preparations for the Halloween event continue to take place; and Brady takes Rasalas for a ride on his motorcycle, much to the wizard's amusement._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: (1) A reminder, the timeline has been moved forward by ten years._   
> _(2) AWP – Associated Wizarding Press. We have Reuters and the Associated Press in the real world, so who says there wouldn't be a Wizarding world equivalent?_


	7. Legal Matters I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas meets his solicitor, Kate Lewis; Preparations for the Halloween event continue to take place; and Brady takes Rasalas for a ride on his motorcycle, much to the wizard's amusement._

107\. LEGAL MATTERS I  
October 14 – 21, 2005

> _“I busted a mirror and got seven years bad luck, but my lawyer thinks he can get me five.”_

  


_\- Steven Wright_

Friday, October 14, 2005

For the past few days, Rasalas had been reading from some of the books he'd bought on Monday. Knowing there was an important exam at the end of the school year, he had focused on doing a review of the subjects he would have studied while at Hogwarts. He had also made enquiries about the examination process, and learned that both O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s could be taken at any time, not just at the end of fifth and seventh years. It only made sense, considering one might decide to study a subject they'd not taken while as a student.

His study session was interrupted, when there was a knock at the front door. He hurried down the stairs, and into the parlour. Like it had been for most of the week, he effectively had the house to himself.

He pulled the door open, to find a woman standing there, poised to knock again. Rasalas guessed she was in her mid-thirties. She had curly black hair and a pointed face. She wore a sharp business suit, and carried with her a large portfolio that was strapped over her shoulder.

“Mr. Black?” she questioned.

“You would be Kate Lewis? Come in,” Rasalas invited. She stepped into the parlour, and Rasalas led her into the dining room, where he was set up.

“You're reviewing for your O.W.L. exams,” she guessed.

“Yeah. Gringotts did warn me about this year being important,” Rasalas answered, as he began marking pages in the books that were open, and stacking them neatly off to the side.

“Knowing who you truly are, I was able to gather a bit of information from the English ministry. Perhaps the most pressing, is your expulsion from Hogwarts.”

“My what?”

“You truly don't remember any of it?”

“No. I... Miss Lewis—”

“Call me Kate.”

“I swear to you. I remember virtually nothing about my life before the middle of September. Until someone told me, I didn't even know my name. And even that was wrong—with my disguise. I know who I'm supposed to be, but... if I was using an alias and a disguise at the time I was attacked, then there had to be a damned good reason for it.

“My limited research on the matter has turned up more than a few dark incidents, and so perhaps _Harry Potter_ needs to stay dead. I know at this point the Canadian ministry only recognizes me as Rasalas Black, and so that's how it will stay.”

“So you don't wish to appeal your conviction and expulsion at the beginning of August.”

“That would mean people would know I'm alive, now, wouldn't it?” Rasalas pointed out. “I wanted to disappear, and perhaps it worked a little better than planned. I... there are a few people I will be getting into contact with, so they know I'm actually all right, but... everyone else... based on what I've discovered, they can all go hang.”

Kate had pulled out a pad of paper and a dicta-quill, and it was then scratching out shorthand notes, easily keeping up with the conversation.

“I guess then, comes the next question. Albus Dumbledore's attempts at accessing the Potter estate. What would you like to do?”

“I'm having Gringotts allow him limited access to the funds, with instruction to record every knut he takes. I know there's a lot of coin there, so—”

“Dumbledore can still argue that there was written consent,” said Kate.

“I have two documents on file with the bank, signed with a blood quill,” said Rasalas, “One of which is the 'written' permission for Dumbledore to withdraw funds. The second, meanwhile, is coupled with the warning Gringotts sent me. It is a statement to Gringotts that, while I have given written permission for Dumbledore to access my vaults, I have in fact only done so to assist the bank in evidence-gathering.”

Kate gave a nod. Yes, he'd been coached well. The goblins were sharp as tacks. Dumbledore was playing with fire, stealing money from one of the bank's wealthiest clients. The man did overreach on a lot of affairs.

“So you have that all well in hand. What's next?”

“I need to take on tutors for a number of magical subjects, particularly potions. Though I can probably get through some of the material on my own, it's better if I have someone to work with me.”

“All right. I'll look into it. You should be aware, finding tutors may take some time,” said Kate. She waited for the quill to catch up, before asking, “What's next?”

Like the meeting at Gringotts, the meeting with Kate lasted the entire morning, and in fact, she was still there when Ryan and Aaron got back for lunch. After a brief introduction, Kate excused herself, and made quick departure.

“S-s-so is she a—” Ryan began.

“Witch, yes,” Rasalas answered, “We'll likely be seeing her on occasion.”

“Getting some answers from the magical world,” Aaron guessed, to which Rasalas gave a nod.

“Yeah, something like that. I mean, it was one conversation at the bank, now I know my parents aren't out there looking for me. It's a piece of closure.”

They heard the front door open and close, and seconds later, both Phil and Brady joined them in the dining room. Casey had returned to the house a half-hour earlier, and was then busy preparing lunch. Rasalas quickly packed up his books, and set them on the smaller table off to the side, with the intent of picking up again after lunch was finished.

“No matter what, it's good to get results, rather than, 'we're still working on it'—no offence intended toward miss Peterson, but...”

Both Ryan and Aaron nodded along.

“Yeah, we get it,” said Aaron.

“Did you mourn? For your parents?” asked Ryan.

“I... I don't know. Maybe. But like just about everything else, if I did, I don't remember.”

“Then... on Samhain, you should join us. P-p-part of the ritual we do after dinner is to acknowledge ffff-family who are no longer with us.”

“I... I don't think I'd be comfortable,” Rasalas answered, “That sounds like something that's private, right?”

“It would be perfectly fine if you join us,” said Phil.

“I'll have to think about it, but thank you for the offer.”

He gave a smile.

“If anything, I think the life I have now is a step up from the life I've forgotten. The few flash memories I do get... they don't paint a very nice picture.”

“Everything happens for a reason, Rasalas,” said Aaron. “I have to think you were meant to meet us.”

“All right. Enough talk about that dark event, boys,” said Phil, “We had an interesting phone call this morning. FX95, the country station out of Oshawa wants to meet with us this afternoon.”

“How'd they get wind of the event?” Aaron wondered.

“My P.R. people likely told 'em,” said Brady.

“So this event won't be so private now, boys. We're already looking into fencing, portable toilets...”

Rasalas shook his head. “We've created a monster.”

“Oh yeah. It's gettin' crazy,” Brady agreed, “Record label's sendin' people along prob'ly next week. My guys should be up later in the week, an' the rig with all our gear about the same time.”

“The temporary stage set up will be on site likely on the twenty-fourth, and we'll be setting up the rides likely the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth,” said Phil. “And boys, I'll really need your help.”

“I'll get mom to write a letter to the school letting them know,” said Aaron, “Probably that entire week then, plus the thirty-first.”

“Yeah, about right.”

“I remember now... you guys let me stay in a tent on the property. Will that be allowed?” Rasalas questioned.

“We can charge a bit more for that, yeah,” said Phil, “Guess we'll need to call our neighbour about borrowing his field...”

The meeting with the radio station's promotional department that afternoon provided yet another surprise: they would promote the event, if an opening act could be added. That turned out to be a guy out of Stony Creek Ontario, named Tim Knight. Aaron immediately knew who it was, and could only grin madly, knowing what his music sounded like.

“You know... if you guys can be talked into doing a song together, there'll probably be fainting spells in the crowd,” he smirked.

One of the executives only smirked right back. “I think Mr. Knight has exactly that in mind, that is, if Mr. Gibson here will agree to it.”

Now it was Ryan's turn to smirk. “I think th-th-the only one that's gonna faint is my b—well, uh, I mean, like, um, y'know, my best friend here.”

That earned him a swat for his comment.

“We'd like for the pair of you to also visit the station, perhaps on the day before the event gets under way,” said another executive, “Crime stoppers is doing a spot on the the attack, Mr. Black, and most certainly, a short interview might further jog peoples' memories.”

“Well... if you think it's a good idea, then sure,” Rasalas agreed.

Brady gave a nod. If Rasalas wanted to do it, then sure, why not? For Brady, this was old-hat. It went with the territory.

“The label's sendin' people up next week,” he said.

* * *

From then on out, it was impossible for Rasalas to concentrate on his review, given the amount of activity going on, both in the house, and on the property in general. Fencing had arrived on Monday, with crews a crew installing it around the inner residential property first, with the larger perimeter fence being installed around the field directly east.

The temporary stage arrived on Tuesday, and its set up was ongoing, thanks to a crew from Scarborough. It was decided that the stage would face the lake, so the sound wouldn't bother the neighbours to the east.

Then, on Thursday, a tour bus arrived, along with a transport truck. Both had Brady's name and image on the side of it, still decorated from his summer tour. For the time being, both were parked behind—or on the north side of the commercial shop, since the lot was pretty much empty. The lot was used when working on large pieces of machinery that were too large to fit indoors.

Given the Sawyers didn't have a loading dock of any sort, a heavy-duty forklift was required to unload the truck. Of course, most of it wouldn't be unloaded until late the following week, but there was a couple of items that Brady wanted right away, though he remained tight-lipped as to exactly what they were. Rasalas could only wonder what his new friend was up to.

* * *

At the crack of dawn the following morning, Rasalas found out exactly what Brady was up to, when he came knocking on the door.

“You still got my jacket?” he asked, when Rasalas opened the door, still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Brady was already dressed.

“Yeah, of course. What do you need—”

“Get yourself dressed an' bring it.”

“God... what time is it?”

“Jus' hurry it up.”

“Why... oh... all right, just give me a minute,” said Rasalas, still trying to shake the cobwebs out. He closed the door and quickly dressed, pulling on a pair of trousers and a shirt. He then dug in the closet for Brady's jacket—something he'd not given a whole lot of thought about since being released from the hospital. Perhaps he wanted it back.

Deciding he looked presentable, he opened the door, finding Brady still waiting for him in the hallway.

“What's the hurry?”

“C'mon, follow me. Can't let no one know 'bout what we're doin'.”

“I detect mischief afoot,” Rasalas grinned.

“No, no, jail break, more like it,” Brady answered, as they hurried down the stairs.

They passed through the dining room, with Brady collecting a jacket from the back of one of the chairs, and slipping it on. It was almost identical to the one he now held in his hand, save for the patches.

“I thought... so you—”

“Bought a new one,” said Brady, easily seeing what Rasalas was about to ask, “You needed it more than I did.”

“But...”

“It's yours... though I'd like the vest back,” said Brady, as they left the house, and began to cross the yard to the commercial shop.

“Deal,” Rasalas grinned, as he threw the jacket on. It was a rather chilly morning, with the temperature just above freezing, their breaths hanging in the air. Making sure Brady couldn't see what he was about to do, he produced his wand and discreetly pointed it at his friend, casting a warming charm, before doing the same to himself. Gods, it was a little chilly... just like...

He gave a shudder and actually stopped walking, as a memory hit full-force. Dark shapes... Dementors.

“Rasalas?”

“I... it's nothing,” Rasalas answered, quickly stowing his wand. Had he seen it?

Brady kept on walking, and Rasalas quickly caught up. They had arrived at the shop, but he was going around to the side and to the back. What in the world was he up to?

The answer came when they arrived at something that was covered by a large grey tarp.

“This here's my girlfriend,” Brady smirked, before yanking the tarp off. Rasalas was about to question exactly why he would be keeping his girlfriend under a tarp, until...

It was not a human being, but a monster of a motorcycle. It was all black, save for the chrome, and the words “Harley-Davidson” were stencilled on the petrol tank.

“It's... wicked,” Rasalas grinned, “Though... I hope you don't make love to it.”

That earned a rude gesture, as Brady opened one of the side compartments, and pulled out two helmets.

“You'll be needin' one of these.”

“Err... right,” said Rasalas, accepting one of them.

Brady pulled off his cap, and stuck it in the compartment, before putting on his helmet.

“Here... it works like this...”

With a little help, Rasalas' helmet was done up securely. Brady was then fumbling with the keyring secured to one of the belt loops of his jeans. The key ring was linked by a chain to his wallet in his back pocket—Rasalas had seen him take it out enough times by this point.

“Oh. Wait. You wanted this...” Rasalas remembered, before slipping out of the vest. “It's really cool though.”

“I'll get'cha one,” Brady promised, as he accepted his property back. He quickly slipped it on.

“So where are we going?”

“Dunno, just away from here a while,” Brady answered, as he sat on the bike. “Get on behind me...”

Rasalas did so, quickly finding the second set of foot rests. If anything, it was exactly like flying a broom, other than the fact he was a passenger rather than the one driving.

“How do I hold on?”

“Jus' put'cher arms 'round my waist.”

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

As Rasalas did as asked, the bike came to life, momentarily startling the young wizard. And as they got moving, Rasalas found himself presented with yet another memory, although it was mostly feel and sound... of another bike. Perhaps he'd been asleep, but... how was... unless it was a memory from when he was a baby. Was that even possible?

The pair of them roared out of the driveway, and onto Bennett Road. It was then just after sunrise, though the cloud ceiling somewhat dimmed it. Rasalas quickly realized they wouldn't be able to talk to each other, the bike being so noisy. No matter, it was just so similar to being on a broom. God, if only...

It was getting more and more difficult, he realized, to keep his true nature a secret. Rasalas had a strong suspicion that Brady didn't do this sort of thing for just anyone, and really, it was just the latest in a string of... well... very kind overtures that he was by no means expected to do. Rasalas now felt he was falling short on his end of the bargain.

They very quickly covered the mile and a quarter up to the busy 401 motorway. Brady stopped briefly, before continuing north. Rasalas caught a glimpse of the motorway, and it became obvious as to why they'd not gone that way: the traffic heading west was barely moving. He remembered the amount of traffic encountered when Ryan had picked him up from the hospital, but this... it was not even 8 o'clock in the morning!

Bennett Road ended at Highway 2, and so they turned right, heading east. That led them to another major highway, the 35-115, which ran north/south. And then, Rasalas quickly learned his friend had a lead foot (or thumb, maybe, since the throttle was a hand control), as they were quickly leaving the other traffic behind. 'Great. Last thing I need, to be thrown in jail... or end up dead,' he thought, sarcastically.

Still, it was a bit of a thrill, if he admitted it. No different than him on a broom, if he really thought about it. Rasalas made a silent promise to himself that somehow, he would take Brady for a ride; it was only fair.

It seemed like very little time had passed at all, when they arrived in Peterborough, a city about fifty kilometres northeast of the Sawyers'. There, the highway ended rather abruptly. From there, they turned heading west, and a few minutes later, they had pulled into a McDonald's restaurant. Fleeing the house on such short notice, breakfast had been neglected. It was also a chance to get off and stretch their legs.

Inside, the restaurant was relatively busy, but the queue moved relatively quickly, and soon they took seats in a booth with their orders.

“Is it freaky that I don't remember if I've ever eaten in a place like this?”

“No. I don' think so,” Brady answered. “But.. you're remeberin' stuff, right?”

“Flashes, most of the time. It's like... my brain wants to remember, and it's this close—” Rasalas held his index finger and his thumb close together, “—and something prevents it from jumping the gap.

“But now I'm certain the life that's unfolding for me is tenfold better than the one I left behind. The documents from the bank... and the evidence my solicitor has collected... they make me out to be some sort of hero one moment, the scapegoat of the hour the next.”

“But there's people who care about'cha.”

“Perhaps. Such as my godfather. I'll be sending him a post—I mean, a letter in the next few days. He's the reason behind my... well, why I'm not hurting for coin. And I'm sure I'll find others as well... if they were honest friends, then I will let them know I'm alive and well. If not... they can go get bent.”

That got a laugh out of Brady.

“You talk funny.”

“You only notice that now?” Rasalas smirked. “You talk funny too.”

That only got another grin from Brady.

Ten minutes later, they got up to leave, breakfast not being all that extensive. Just outside the restaurant, as they were getting ready to leave, a group of people approached, all of them female.

“Uh, Mr. Gibson?” one of them dared ask. “Could... could we get a picture with you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Which one of you has the camera? I'll take the photo so you can all be in it,” Rasalas offered.

That ended up taking several minutes, as not only did they want pictures, but one of them had a CD they wanted autographed. Brady happily obliged, and the group went on their way.

“I guess that happens a fair bit,” Rasalas guessed, as Brady fetched the helmets from the saddle compartment.

“Yeah, pretty much. An' I don't mind doin' it, long's it's not a mob.”

“I think my past self had a problem something like that. At least that's what my solicitor's been able to dig up.”

“You feel like headin' back, or wanna ride a bit further?”

“Let's keep going,” Rasalas decided.

There were no appointments or visitors he needed to be back at the house for, and if Brady wanted to play hooky, then so be it. Of course, his management team or whatever would likely have a few choice words for him when they got back, but... he was a grown man, and they did work for _him_ , right?

Given the number of quiet back roads and lightly travelled highways, they were gone the rest of the day. Their ride took them as far north as Bobcaygeon, before they headed back south and east, stopping in Port Perry for lunch. They then kept heading west, ending up in Markham. This also meant heavier traffic, and so they headed back east, staying away from the busier streets and highways wherever possible.

* * *

The sun had just set when they finally pulled into the driveway at the Sawyers. This time Brady parked the bike in front of the house, rather than behind the commercial shop. Almost immediately, the front door to the house opened, and both Ryan and Aaron stepped out onto the porch.

“The note was nice, but...”

“We went for a ride,” Rasalas answered, grinning madly.

“Yeah, we figured that,” said Aaron.

“Ma w-w-w-was concerned though. We figured you guys would only be g-g-gone for a few hours.”

“Bein' stuck here since the beginning of the month, needed to get out for a bit,” said Brady, “If my guys were—”

“No, nothing like that,” said Ryan, “Though Da th-thought it was a waste of a day's planning.”

“I think I liked it better back out on the road,” said Rasalas, feigning disappointment, “Unfortunately my arse has fallen asleep and it feels like there are tiny pins and needles being jabbed into the back of my legs. And I'm starving.”

“M-m-ma left both of you a plate.”

Rasalas once again couldn't help but grin, feeling the warmth of both friendship and family. The Sawyers weren't his parents, but they most certainly treated him as an honorary son.

“C'mon, then. Food's about right, an' a hot shower,” said Brady.

“So where all did you guys go, anyway?”

“Peterborough,” Rasalas answered, “And I remember a place called Bobcaygeon... had to giggle at that one. What a funny name. And where was that place we stopped for lunch—”

“Port Perry,” Brady finished, “Stickin' to the back roads, less traffic. Good to get out ridin' again.”

“We heard you guys go,” said Aaron, as they passed through the parlour and into the dining room.

“He woke me up just before 7:30,” Rasalas remembered, “He was being rather persistent, so I went. But... glad I did, it was wicked fun.”

“So does that m-mean you will be obtaining a bike of your own?” Ryan teased.

“Maybe,” Rasalas grinned, “Though. Being a passenger was just as much fun, I think.”

Aaron looked at Ryan and stage whispered, “I think Mr. Gibson's got himself an admirer.”

That earned him a rude gesture.

“Right then.” And Rasalas burst out laughing.

As Ryan had promised, there were two plates being kept warm in the oven. Rather than sit in the dining room, they ate at the smaller table in the kitchen. The room had been modified years earlier, adding a small sun room and breakfast nook. Clusters of dried herbs hung from a mesh suspended from the ceiling, and a number of potted plants lined the window sills.

“You guys know you look almost alike,” Aaron commented.

Both Rasalas and Brady had not bothered to remove their jackets. Not to mention, their outfits were almost the same—dark jeans, and a dark shirt. Only their footwear did not match: Brady's cowboy boots to Rasalas' trainers.

“Guess we do,” said Rasalas, with a shrug, “Though I don't think I'm ready for the piercings or the tattoos just yet.”

That earned a smirk out of Brady.

“Though I think I might shave my head,” Rasalas continued, “The helmet was awkward with this much hair in the way. If I'm going to be out on the bike, I'll need to do something about it.”

“Okay, now that's gonna be a stark contrast,” said Aaron, “I'll help you do it if you want.”

“That would be excellent.”

Ryan smirked again. “He's been b-b-b-b-bewitched by a bad boy with a bad toy...”

Brady looked at the ginger-haired young man a moment, before giving a smirk of his own.

“That sounds like a song.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Ryan discovers something rather shocking about himself, giving Rasalas a very good idea what to get him for his birthday; Rasalas and Brady give an interview at a local radio station; and the weekend event unfolds with few wrinkles..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Country fans out there. If you haven't figured out who Brady's real-world counterpart is, shame on you. And I do have to smirk, thinking of Harry going all biker, y'know. What will Dumbledore think? Or Mrs. Weasley... or McGonagall, for that matter?_


	8. Halloween Throw-Down 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ryan discovers something rather shocking about himself, giving Rasalas a very good idea what to get him for his birthday; Rasalas and Brady give an interview at a local radio station; and the weekend event unfolds with few wrinkles..._

108\. HALLOWEEN THROW-DOWN 2005  
October 23 – 31, 2005

> _“If music be the food of love, play on.”_

  
_\- William Shakespeare_   


If the previous week was intense, the final week of October bordered on insane. Both Ryan and Aaron had taken the week off of school, since their help was most definitely required for last-minute preparations. Then came the ride enthusiast group out of Pickering, who helped to put up the amusement rides, and along with them, came a number of games and concessions—essentially forming a small midway. The fencing was completed, as was the temporary stage, minus the equipment Brady's crew would set up much closer to the actual show.

Brady himself had already met with the other major act on the concert bill, and they were holed up on his tour bus for the good portion of an afternoon. There had been mention the two musicians would team up for at least one song, and that notion most definitely had Aaron excited.

With the storm of chaos that swirled around them that week, several events stood out, beginning with October 23. That day, Rasalas once again visited Simcoe Crossing, first to drop off a letter with Garokat, addressed to Sirius. The next stop was a visit to his solicitor. She gave a start, as Rasalas lowered the hood of his jumper, revealing he now had very little hair.

“Good grief, Rasalas.”

“Do you like it?”

“It's rather startling. What in the world possessed you to make such a change?”

“An observation when I was out with Brady on his motorcycle. A motorcycle helmet doesn't go on long hair very easily.”

“I see.”

Kate pursed her lips, obviously not all that impressed with Rasalas' changed image. He'd gone with a pair of dark jeans, a leather motorcycle jacket, and a hooded jumper, easily mirroring his famous friend (as she remembered him).

“I've been reviewing your records from the English ministry,” said Kate, finally, “One thing that stood out, is the fact that the _Trace_ has been dispelled from your person.”

“The _Trace_?”

“It's an enchantment put on a minor witch or wizard when they first begin their magical education. It normally dispels naturally on their seventeenth birthday. It seems this has taken place two years early.”

“Well... I _did_ almost die,” Rasalas pointed out, “'course that has me wondering now, what other magical spells or enchantments on me were fouled or changed?”

“Hmm... a good question,” Kate agreed. “Something we'll definitely explore at another time. The immediate consequence of this, is that you are now eligible to take Apparition lessons, and apply for your Apparition license.”

“Oh. That would be excellent. I mean, I've not seen much of... but...”

“I'll line up an instructor then.”

“It'll have to wait until at least the beginning of November,” said Rasalas.

“It'll likely be later than that, possibly not until December. But yes, I'm certainly aware of your festival coming up this weekend. And on that, I would love to attend.”

“Of course you're invited,” Rasalas grinned, reaching into his pouch, and pulling out a guest pass. “It's good for the entire weekend.”

* * *

Meanwhile, on October 25, the excitement was a little closer to home. It was later in the evening, with Rasalas working on a bit of review in his room. Not a whole lot of review was actually happening, considering both Ryan and Aaron had decided to invade his room.

The pair were actually helping Rasalas with his review. Though neither of them could cast magic themselves, they could definitely ask questions from the text book. The pair had lived through two years of high school exams—three with Ryan, and this was no different.

As it was, Rasalas was twirling his wand between his fingers, answering questions, when it slipped, and clattered to the floor. Not thinking much, Ryan reached down and snatched it up—and a tiny shower of red sparks bloomed from the end.

“Hang on. Ryan, give the wand a flick. That shouldn't have happened.”

“What...” Ryan shrugged, but gave the wand a flick. This time, the bloom was a bit bigger.

“Interesting. That shouldn't happen. A Muggle can't handle a wand safely,” said Rasalas.

Aaron smirked. “Let's give it to Brady then.”

“And you're twisted, b-b-b-bro.”

“A wand isn't a prank toy, Aaron. Now seriously. Ryan, I want you to try this. Imagine a light blooming from the end of it. While thinking that, speak firmly, Lumos. Hear it again... looo-mOHs.”

“Lumos,” Ryan parroted.

“Right. Put it together and....”

“ _Lumos_!” said Ryan.

A reasonably bright white light bloomed from the tip of the borrowed wand.

Rasalas could only grin. “You're a wizard, Ryan.”

“For r-r-real?”

“You just cast your first spell. Simple as it might be. Tell me, what did you feel?”

“It felt... like a warm tingle in my hand when the light formed.”

“There is no denying it. You're a wizard.”

“How... how d-d-do I get rid of it? The light?”

“Visualize it being extinguished, and say, Nox. Like knocking. NOX.”

“ _Nox_!”

The light dimmed and vanished.

“So I can d-d-do the same stuff you're doing?”

“You'll have to learn it, just like I have, but yeah, eventually,” Rasalas answered, as Ryan passed him his wand back, “We'll have to get you a proper wand though. This one's mine, and wands are matched to witches and wizards, see.”

“Yeah, I g-g-get it. How much does it cost?”

“About sixty-five bucks, with the exchange rate, or about seven galleons. But don't worry about it, I'll get it for you. I mean, your birthday's coming up, right? So count that as one of your birthday gifts.”

“Thanks, man.” Ryan clapped his friend on the back.

“So, uh, a wand's a big thing I guess,” said Aaron.

“Rite of passage, yeah. Normally a witch or wizard will be matched to a wand before they start school. Close to their eleventh birthday. We'll see about doing it Monday morning if possible.”

“We'll make sure Da knows, I think they can get by www-without us for a couple of hours. But... seriously. I'm a wizard.”

“Very much so. I...” Rasalas thought for a moment. “When we visit the wand maker, he'll likely have some questions for you. And I think at least one of your parents need to come along.”

The rest of the evening ended up being a little more engaging, as Rasalas now found a second purpose for review. Though Ryan had only just found out he was magical, he was most interested in learning, even if he had to borrow Rasalas' wand.

* * *

The morning of October 28 found both Brady and Rasalas visiting the studios of FX95, the country radio station out of Oshawa. Rasalas was certainly nervous about talking to the media, and with good reason. His former life, he'd been vilified in the press. Or at least, in the English Wizarding press, namely the _Daily Prophet_. He'd certainly seen more than a few back copies of the paper.

Since Brady seemed a lot more comfortable talking to the media, Rasalas decided to let him do most of it, content to only listen, for the most part. Unfortunately, the radio hosts would have nothing of it.

“...and that's FX95 traffic for Dan's Towing, call anywhere in Durham, 905-555-8176. You can report traffic problems to us any time on Bell, by pressing star 3995. I'll have more traffic in ten minutes,” Jane, the female host, finished.

“It's 8:37 am, and we're joined in studio by Brady Gibson, and Rasalas Black, good to have both of you on air with us,” Chris, the other host introduced them.

“Good to be here,” said Brady.

“Err... likewise,” said Rasalas, shyly.

“Your story has most certainly drawn a fair bit of attention, Rasalas,” said Jane.

“Uh. I'm sure it has.”

“Gotta talk 'little louder,” said Brady.

That earned a glare from the young wizard, and chuckles from the host.

“Forgive me, not all that used to this sort of thing,” said Rasalas, leaning a little closer to the microphone in front of him.

“Durham Region Crime stoppers is presently running a spot covering the attack you were a victim of,” said Chris.

“As my solicitor has already explained to me. If it'll help.”

“What did you think when you learned that Brady here was responsible for your rescue?” questioned Jane.

“At the time, I had no clue who he was. I mean, it was another friend of mine who recognized his jacket.”

“It was the only thing handy to cover 'im with,” said Brady.

“And I notice the pair of you came in looking almost identical,” said Chris.

“I let 'im keep it 'an replaced it, is all.”

“So next question, where did you two meet?”

“He showed up at the Sawyers' place a few days after I was let out of the hospital,” Rasalas jumped in, feeling a little more confident. “Honestly, he surprised me. I mean, the kindness I've experienced since the incident back at the beginning of September has really thrown me. And then Brady comes all the way from the southern U.S., just to see me and make sure I was well.

“See, though I remember very, very little from my past... there's a part of me that keeps saying I've not been treated well in my former life. That very few have done anything close to what Brady and the Sawyers have done for me in the short memory I now have.”

“Where did the idea for the concert come from?” questioned Jane.

“It was my idea,” said Brady, “Rasalas had a ticket for my Toronto show, 'an it ain't right he missed it, it's what I said. Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer got talkin' 'an it went from there. Really lookin' forward to throwin' down with Tim Knight on Sunday.”

“And the pair of you have met already?” Chris questioned, “Rumour has it the pair of you will perform at least one song together.”

“Maybe,” Brady hedged, “But yeah, we hooked up earlier in the week.”

“Can we expect anything new on Sunday?”

“Maybe,” Brady said again.

“Now, though your sophomore album is still charting well, are you working on new material?”

“I'm always writin',” Brady answered, “I wrote most of the songs on my last two albums, so yeah, definitely there's new material coming. Can't give a date or anythin' like that though. Got a new idea for a song last week, funny where sh—uh, stuff comes from.”

Rasalas smirked, knowing what Brady had almost said.

“When this event finishes, where you headed next?” Jane questioned.

“Uh, from here? Relaxin', gettin' in a little huntin' an' fishin' back home. Bit of R n' R, nothin' happenin' until December. Then we got shows in Athens an' Atlanta, Christmas season, right. Thinkin' I might invite my boy Rasalas here to come join me.”

Rasalas grinned at the endearment. “I'd be honoured.”

“Last thoughts before we wrap up?” Chris questioned.

“Anyone out there knows who's responsible for what happened to Rasalas, give 'im a hand and do the right thing. Number's 1-800-222-8477. Crime Stoppers'll take your info anonymously.”

“Or visit their website, www dot durham region crime stoppers dot ca... this information is also available on our website, FX Country 95 dot fm,” Jane added.

“Brady. Rasalas. Thank you for your time this morning. And we'll see you on Sunday,” said Chris.

“Sure will. Y'all come on out, it's gonna be a throw-down.”

* * *

Even though Brady wouldn't actually take the stage until Sunday evening, the weekend event was busy right from the start, with the gates opening at noon hour on Friday. Members of the steam club had begun to arrive that morning, with the engines all in steam by 11 am.

With Ryan and Aaron being in charge of the miniature steam operation, Phil was responsible for the steam tractors. There were four of them on site, including a pair of them which he owned. They were being fired up when Brady and Rasalas had left for the radio station, and were all up and running when they returned.

The rides, meanwhile, were opened at noon hour, with concessions opening soon after. The grounds had been nicely decorated for Halloween, a process that had taken a good portion of the week and lots of help from the steam club to pull off. It had triggered several flash memories with Rasalas.

With Brady disappearing very quickly after they arrived back at the house, Rasalas joined up with Ryan and Aaron, helping to run the steam trains. That took most of the day, with them not finishing up until well after dark. Given his limited experience around the equipment, Rasalas only worked handling the tickets, or working as the conductor (or guard) at the end of the train. He was more than happy when they called it a night, as it had been incredibly busy. Sleep found him rather quickly.

* * *

Saturday, meanwhile, somewhat tested everyone's patience, as the weather decided not to cooperate, bringing uncomfortably muggy temperatures, and thunderstorms. The trains ran intermittently, as did the rides, and driving the trains became an adventure with the damp or wet rails. It certainly made for some great pictures and video.

The weather cleared up enough for the evening's entertainment, with a few local bands taking to the stage. Rasalas decided to check things out, and give his feet a rest—he'd spent a good portion of both days so far on his feet.

Given the event had been born out of Brady wanting to do a make-up concert for his new friend, Rasalas was given V.I.P. status, as were the Sawyers. That gave them special seats front row centre, grouped with about two hundred other seats in a section separated from the rest of the seating. As he quickly discovered, the V.I.P. seating also served another purpose.

“Mr. Black,” said a man sitting to his left.

Rasalas at first thought he was seeing Brady. But, taking the man in, Rasalas remembered who it was. He looked about ten years older than Brady, though he also wore a baseball cap, and kept his hair very short.

“Mr. Knight,” Rasalas greeted him.

“Sorry to hear about your... accident. How you keeping?”

“Doing pretty well. It's nice so many people are willing to help me out. It's meant a lot to me.”

“Hearing what happened, it was only right I came out. Actually glad I ran into you. I wanted to ask and get your permission first, but... I would like to suggest people make donations to the Canadian Brain Injury Association on your behalf.”

“I... yeah, I would like that. Both the doctor... the neurologist, and my... social worker, they told me about this sort of thing. It happens frequently.”

“It does.”

Rasalas thought for a moment. “We should have donated part of the gate proceeds.”

Tim hummed in agreement. “So... you've never heard my music?”

“Nope. I only recently heard Brady's believe it or not. I mean, his music's wicked and all, but... I'm pretty new to this kind of music. Maybe I liked it in my past life, but now? Yeah, still pretty new.”

“Well... if you like his stuff, you'll like mine. We're a bit similar in music style. We're thinking of doing a collaboration.”

The evening's main act was taking to the stage, and Rasalas sensed someone sit down to his right.

“Your feet quit on 'ya?”

“Hey, I was working hard, running the train all day,” Rasalas smirked, “Where do you disappear to all day anyway?”

“Last minute prep,” Brady answered, “Puttin' this together's a lot of work.”

“Oh.”

Further conversation was interrupted, as the band started—and start, they did.

  


_...the Devil went down to Georgia_

_He was lookin' for a soul to steal_

_He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind_

_And he was willin' to make a deal...(1)_

  


When the song finished, there was a strong round of applause, but really, the song had sounded rough, even to Rasalas.

“Say Tim... 'ya know that one?” Brady questioned.

“Yeah, of course. Thinking of doing it?”

“No. Thinkin' _we_ need to do it.”

“Should I leave you two alone?” Rasalas grinned.

* * *

Sunday, meanwhile, being the height of the event, also brought with it the warmest day felt since the middle of August (at least for those who could remember), as the mercury pushed to nearly thirty degrees Celsius (eighty-six on the old Fahrenheit scale). More than a few people were caught off guard by the unexpected heat, having come prepared for the sharply cooler weather of late, being deep into Autumn.

Rasalas found himself changing into shorts and a white tee shirt by mid-morning, and sunscreen was a must. He was once again working with Ryan and Aaron, staffing the miniature steam train. If he thought the two previous days were busy, this seemed to easily double it. There was an unending crowd of people wanting to ride the trains, including scores of children.

With the volume of people on the grounds, it also became a little more dicey running, since the tracks crossed the pathway to the stage area. It meant slowing down and laying on the whistle, since miniature or not, a collision would still most definitely hurt.

When they finally took a break for dinner, Ryan looked like he'd just about had it.

“Y'know... with all the stupid p-p-people around... why don't we j-j-just remove the wwww-warning labels, see... let the problem sssss-sort itself out.”

Both Rasalas and Aaron burst out laughing.

“Oh, Bill Engval said it best... people like that should just wear signs that say 'I'm Stupid', it would save the rest of us a lot of time.”

“Maybe next year we need to get some people to work on crowd control at the crossing,” Rasalas suggested.

“Y-y-yeah, thinking along the same thing. We'll mention it to Da once the event's done. Little late to be d-d-doing anything about it now.”

“Still can't believe how busy it is. And I thought yesterday was crazy.”

“The main event's today, Ras,” Aaron pointed out, “And the heat, it's almost a perfect storm.”

“Something Tim mentioned last night... having people donate to the... what was it... the Canadian Brain Injury Association.”

“Damn. Th-th-that should've been done at the beginning,” Ryan realized, “But... I'll still mention it to Da. Even donating ten p-p-percent of the gate, it's gonna be huge.”

“And Brady will likely donate part of his cut too.”

Rasalas gave a nod. There was no doubt, he was an honourable man.

“So remind me again, when are we done with the train?”

“After the first act ends their set,” said Aaron, “Once Tim takes to the stage, it'll be impossible to cross the path way. We might even end up shutting things down sooner, it really depends on the foot traffic.”

“You can take off once we pull the train off, w-we can look after cleaning up.”

“Thanks, guys.”

“Hey, th-th-this show was meant for you, right? Maybe not the private show Brady wanted, but.. he's here for you, don't f-f-f-forget that.”

As Aaron had suspected, they were forced to close down the miniature steam train rides before the first act was even half-finished, with the amount of foot traffic heading toward the seating. Other than the V.I.P. section, there was no reserved seating, so it was first-come-first-served. Therefore, the seating quickly filled up, leaving everyone else to find places on the ground. Most had brought something to put on the ground to make it slightly more comfortable, but only marginally so.

The first act had finished and Tim's set was about a third of the way finished before Ryan and Aaron joined Rasalas. It was loud, so they couldn't really talk to one another, but Rasalas grinned, seeing traces of dirt on Ryan's face. They'd likely gotten into another grease fight or something. He was sure he'd get the story later. No matter, their arrival was timely, with the song Tim chose next.

“Normally I have to do this one on my own,” he was saying, “seeing as Lightning Jack's on the west coast right now... however, I'm privileged to have someone else here to fill in. Let's see some hands for _Brady Gibson_!”

Brady hurried out from the left side of the stage, guitar in hand, as the band started up, and the crowd were immediately on their feet—not that many people weren't already. Tim was a big draw, as Rasalas quickly gathered when he had first stepped on stage to begin his set.

  


_I'm a bullfrog sitting on a log_

_Watching them flies like a bone to a dog_

_Hey yup the sun done coming up_

_bait, pole and a coffee cup_

_It's alright if the fish don't bite_

_I can sit here all day all night come on_

_Ain't nothing no_

_Ain't nothing gonna bring me down(2)_

  


Rasalas was startled when Aaron pulled him to his feet and started dancing. Gods... what... He couldn't help but giggle, though he knew he had two left feet. It was silly, but who was really going to take notice? Ryan, too, got up, not about to be left behind by his friends.

Tim's set lasted for another hour. Then, while the lights on stage dimmed and equipment was exchanged, he set his guitar on the stand, and hopped off the stage into the V.I.P. area.

“Err...”

“What?” Tim grinned. He was drenched with sweat, and looked tired, Rasalas could tell he'd had about as much fun as the crowd.

“Perks that g-g-g-go with being a V.I.P., Ras.”

“This is true.” Rasalas was still grinning madly. “That... your music's wicked.”

Aaron smirked. “I think a few girls over that way actually passed out when Brady joined you on stage.”

“Mr. Knight...”

Tim turned to find one of the stage crew with a large jug. It was blue in colour, with a white top.

“Thank you.”

He popped the small valve on top and proceeded to drink greedily from it.

“So D-d-da wants to do something like this again next year. Goddess above, he's astounded at the gate total sssss-so far.”

“You guys do this again next year, count on me coming back,” Tim promised, setting the jug down at his feet. “A bit better notice, you could get some real star power every night of the event.”

“What Da said... but this was all about Ras here, and really, it was Brady's idea. Da j-j-just ran with it.”

“It's about time we get something like this happening in the area,” Aaron threw in, “I mean, we got the Havelock Country Jamboree(3), but that's not really local.”

“Well, Da's t-t-t-talking to the owners of the fields around us, seeing if w-w-we can borrow them next year. I mean, look at the size of the crowd!”

“Yeah, noticed that,” said Tim, “Might wanna move the stage a little further north. Still, you guys did pretty good on less than four weeks' notice.”

It took several minutes for the stage crew to swap out equipment and adjust the set up for Brady's band. Tim was using that time to sign a few autographs, since the V.I.P. area was crammed with people. With plenty of security around, it was no issue for him to oblige.

The stage had suddenly gone completely dark, save for a few small lights that came from equipment, and with that, the crowd began to stir. Showtime. Being as close to the stage as Rasalas was, he could see the silhouette of the other musicians, as they took their places.

Then, with a bright flash of lights, the band began to play, with Brady practically storming up to the microphone at front centre. He opened his mouth to sing and—darkness.

The silence was as deafening as the music, as the crowd began muttering, laughing, whistling, some of them clapping at the unexpected turn of events. Rasalas chanced a glance to the west, where the rides were set up, and sure enough, everything that way was dark, too. So was the house, and the commercial shop.

“Sssss-shit, we blew the breaker,” Ryan cursed.

“Shouldn't be possible,” said Aaron, “We ran the power requirement calculations a hundred times.”

“Whatever happened... w-w-we're in the dark.”

Suddenly there came a whistle from the stage, and everyone close stopped muttering and chattering.

“Uh, well...” Brady began, his voice carrying easily over the crowd, “Maybe not what we had planned for y'all.”

There came more whistles, laughter, and some cheers from the crowd. Brady held a finger up to his lips, and the noise died down.

“Now... if everyone's real nice, I can do some of this acoustically.”

Now the crowd fell completely silent, as a stage hand hurried over with a flashlight and a stool. Brady waved it off, choosing to sit cross-legged close to the edge of the stage. Once he was comfortable, he began to play:

  


_Hey old Friend, thanks for callin'_

_It's good to know somebody cares_

_And yeah she's gone, but I don't feel like talkin'_

_Might be just too much to bear_

_To hear somebody say it stops hurting_

_Or to hear somebody say that she ain't worth it... (4)_

  


Rasalas could only grin, hearing the crowd singing along—Aaron included. If he had to admit... that seemed to work far better than whatever Brady was originally going to open with. A number of lighters and small flashlights were seen held high in the crowd. Yes, magical. Without actual magic, he smirked in his head.

Brady ended up doing two more songs with only his guitar, before the power at last came back on. He was finally able to do the opening, but if Rasalas were honest, he liked the acoustic songs better. He certainly enjoyed the entire set, but there was something extra special about the three songs done without backup, with just his voice and guitar. Those were the memories he would take with him, and remember long after Brady had gone.

Finishing the final song from his set, Brady then took the microphone.

“The act last night did a pretty damned good rendition of an old Charlie Daniels classic, but I'm figurin' we might take a run at it ourselves.”

Rasalas caught a glimpse of stage hands pushing a small set of stairs up to the stage to his right.

“That's if Mr. Knight's willin' to help me out.”

Tim needed no further prompting, as he hurried up on stage by the stairs provided, with a stage hand bringing his guitar over. Now, Rasalas understood the underlying reason for Tim joining them in the V.I.P. area, as two members of Tim's band also stepped out on stage.

Needless to say, it was a real barn-burner, as the two artists delivered an astounding combined performance, bolstered by the large crowd, many of whom were singing along. When it came to country music, “ _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_ ” was considered a standard.

It took several minutes to get the crowd to quiet down after the song finished, with the crowd showing their appreciation for both acts.

“Yeah, thanks everyone,” said Tim, “Listen... uh, before we call it a night, we gotta call on a very special young man, the reason this show came about in the first place. Mr. Black! Come on up here!”

Rasalas was taken by surprise, as both Brady and Tim beckoned for him to join them on stage. He obliged, and stood between them.

“Over fifty thousand Canadians will suffer a brain injury this year,” Tim continued, “Mr. Black here being only one of them. We encourage everyone to make a donation to the Canadian Brain Injury Association, so people who suffer from these injuries get the care and support they need.”

“Both Tim and I are donatin' twenty-five percent of the profits from tonight's show,” said Brady, “I wanna see all my fans out there back me up, it's the right thing, showin' my boy here some love an' support.”

“One final thing, you guys out there have any information on what happened to Mr. Black here, give Crime Stoppers a call, they'll take your info and make this right. Thank you all, hope to see you real soon!”

“Thank you all, and God bless!” Brady added, before resetting the microphone on its stand, as the crowd again erupted into screams and cheers.

* * *

Monday, meanwhile, became special for a couple of reasons, one of which being Ryan's nineteenth birthday. Breakfast, therefore, was a rather boisterous affair, as the boy—or man of the hour received plenty of well-wishes from his friends and his parents.

“Right. So, err... we need to go into Toronto,” said Rasalas, as he finished eating.

“What ever for?” questioned Casey, “We've still got a day's worth of activities on the go.”

“Something rather important that I have to pick up, and I need Ryan's help with it,” said Rasalas.

Brady looked up from his plate, and he didn't look all that well. Rasalas felt bad for him, knowing there were several potions that could instantly heal his current ailment.

“D'ya need help?”

“No. Got it covered. Get some more rest,” Rasalas answered. “We should be back before lunch.”

“Does it really have to be done today?” asked Phil, “We really need to look at the dynamo set.”

“Well... yeah, I guess.” Ryan looked at Rasalas. “We can go t-t-tomorrow or day after. But Da's right.”

“There's no hurry, and yeah, we have a lot still going on.”

Casey, meanwhile, pursed her lips at Brady's condition, and stood up.

“I'll be right back.”

She stepped into the kitchen. Phil, meanwhile, had to roll his eyes. “Your mother's likely gonna kill me when she finds out what one of your presents happens to be, son.”

Rasalas could only smirk, now having a very good idea of what Ryan's father had got him. Question was, what would she think of him giving her son Firewhiskey? He'd certainly seen a few advertisements for the substance in back copies of the _Daily Prophet_. Given it was a magical drink, he suspected it was likely far more potent than any Muggle concoction.

Casey returned a minute later, with a mug filled with a dark fluid. She was dabbing an herb of some kind in it. She put it in front of Brady.

“Here, Mr. Gibson. Drink. It'll help clear your head.”

Rasalas arched an eyebrow as Brady went to drink it. Witch. Right. Of course she would have knowledge of herbs and the power they had. It was only a small step from there to herbology and potions.

Brady nearly spit out the foul-tasting concoction, but bit down and drained the mug. He made a sour face.

“What... what's _in_ this?”

“An old herbal remedy,” Casey answered, though she again pursed her lips. “I debated perhaps leaving you in the state you found yourself, but it would have been unproductive, having to listen to you complain.”

Rasalas fought to keep his face neutral. God, she was channeling another mother he used to know... red hair, wasn't it? A plump lady with red hair. Lots of children too. Like Casey, she didn't put up with nonsense from anyone, be them family or friend.

“Rasalas, will you be comfortable working with Aaron for a while tonight?” asked Phil, “We have a traditional private ceremony at dusk, and Ryan kind of needs to be there.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“We're not leavin' 'till tomorrow or Wednesday,” said Brady, “Dependin' on how busy it is, I can help.”

“That would be great, but if you're uncomfortable with extra attention we won't fault you for stepping away,” said Phil. “Of course, since you've handled the Y6B already... it would be great if we could get a few shots of you running at night.”

“Sure... if that's what 'ya wanna do. Long's I get a few copies so I can post 'em on my MySpace page.”

“So what do you have to do today then?”

“Doin' a surprise short set this afternoon. It was P.R.'s idea an' I like it. Nothin' before lunch.”

Though not nearly as busy and crazy as it had been on Sunday, there were still a lot of people visiting, and in this case, many were in costume. Rasalas ended up working with the miniature train crews yet again, mostly handling tickets and keeping the queue in order.

Brady joined them off and on throughout the earlier part of the day, but left as it neared 4 pm, having to prepare for his last-minute scheduled short performance. Rasalas found someone to take over for him, and soon followed, taking the opportunity to hear him live once more before he had to leave. Of course, he had the suspicion that, if asked, Brady would likely play some of his music one on one, but... the guy had already done so much for him.

As he quickly discovered, the short set Brady put on was done with a stripped-down stage, with most of the stuff already being put away. That included most of the larger speakers, and so it was a nearly acoustic set, though his drummer was present. He only performed five songs, including two he did the previous night, and one he'd just finished writing back in September.

His set concluded as the sun was sinking below the tree line to the west, and almost immediately, the road crew began removing items for storage on the tractor trailer which had been moved in behind the stage that morning. The stage guys were also then beginning to take apart the stage itself, beginning with the canopy and coverings.

“Rasalas. Wait.”

“Oh. Don't you need to get changed?”

Though he wasn't completely soaked, such as he'd been the previous night, his skin still glistened with sweat.

“Later. You goin' to get food?”

“Yeah. I liked the set. It was wicked.”

“Better than last night.” It wasn't a question.

“It was... I guess I'm not used to things being so loud.”

“I'll get'cha a pair of ear plugs,” Brady grinned. “Say, y'know, one thing I've not been able to do, an' the weekend's near done... we ain't been on the rides yet.”

“We did promise to help with the train, but... when Ryan comes back, I'd love to. It's another thing I sort of remember from being here before being attacked. The rides were awesome.”

They were then headed in the direction of the house and the train's loading area, while security was pushing the stragglers from the crowd toward the main driveway. With the stage area now closed, people were being encouraged to move over to the normal part of the grounds were the attractions were.

“God, can't believe how much fun this has been,” Rasalas remarked, “Definitely have to do this again next year.”

“Yeah, Tim was sayin' somethin' similar. I'll come back, know that much. 'an I know a few friends that might come play too.”

“They play stuff like yours?”

“Yeah, pretty much. So where you goin'... or... meanin', uh, you don't plan on livin' here permanently, right?”

“No. Once I truly get my feet, than I'll have to make some decisions. I know my family left me a lot of money. I'm half-tempted to purchase the land across the road here and build my own place. The Sawyers have all but adopted me, and well... I've sort-of fell in love with the area. Weird, considering I was beaten to within an inch of my life on the overpass to the motorway a couple of miles from here.”

“Shame. You could've come down my way.”

“But I'm already doing that.” Rasalas gave a toothy grin. “No matter where I end up, though, you've got walk-in privileges. You saved my life, and I'll never forget that.”

Brady clapped his friend on the back. “It was the right thing. God wouldn't forgive me if I didn't help.”

After checking with the train crew—there were still six trains running—both Rasalas and Brady went into the house for a quick bite to eat, and a change of clothes. Though it still remained quite warm, with the sun setting, cooler air would set in, as it had the previous night.

Then, they returned to the train loading area, so Ryan could join his parents.

“What kind of ceremony are they doing?” Rasalas asked, as they helped load the next train.

“It's a family ritual celebrating Samhain,” Aaron answered, “They do it every year. I've joined them for a couple of years, but with this... can't exactly step away.”

“Pagan ritual,” said Brady.

“Yeah. I mean, I'm a christian too, but... it's quite beautiful. It's somewhat a remembrance of their family, stuff like that,” Aaron answered.

“Oh. Well, it don't bother me none, if that's what'cher thinkin'. Each his own and all that sh—stuff,” said Brady, “I believe in Jesus Christ, an' that's enough for me.”

They only had to wait a couple of minutes, before Ryan and his father pulled up with the Y6B and its full load of passengers.

“All right boys. She's all yours. We'll be finished in about a half-hour,” said Phil. “Aaron, why don't you take the throttle for a while?”

“Yes sir,” Aaron grinned.

Phil stood up, and Aaron took his place.

“Mr. Gibson, you're okay working the train?”

“Should be fine.” He nodded toward a pair of security guards still present.

“I'll work with the tickets. You take conductor then.”

“Here.”

Ryan reached into the pocket of his overalls, and pulled out a spare whistle.

“You'll n-need that.”

All in all, everyone had a chance to take the throttle of the enormous locomotive. Their train seemed to be busier than the others, likely due to the fact that Brady was working either as the driver or conductor. They were sometimes delayed as people wanted to get pictures taken with him.

It was sometime later, as they were loading another group of people and getting them seated securely, that Rasalas stopped suddenly, feeling a wave of energy wash over him. The hairs on his arms all stood up on end, as though...

“Did... did you feel that?” Brady asked. He'd actually stopped in the middle of signing someone's cap.

“Yeah... static charge of some sort,” said Rasalas, with a shrug.

As they went back to loading the train, though, Rasalas had a very good idea of what had just happened. It reeked of magic, magic strong enough that even Brady had felt it. Brady, meanwhile, took off his own cap a moment, and rubbed his head. Whatever it was had sent a shiver down his spine, and caused all the hair on his body to stand on end. He couldn't put a finger on what he felt, but... it was weird. Unnatural.

When Ryan returned to the train, he looked most pleased, almost excited.

“Goddess, that was truly epic,” he grinned.

“Might that have something to do with the gathering you just participated in?” Rasalas smirked.

“You felt it?”

“I think everyone within a mile of your house felt it, Ryan,” said Rasalas, shaking his head. Glancing over and seeing Brady was tied up with more fans wanting his autograph, he said, “You have to be careful, right. Brady felt it.”

“Really?”

“He commented on it.”

Ryan grinned sheepishly. “We've b-b-been doing this for years, Ras. Ma's a witch longer than I've been a... y'know.”

“We'll need to talk about this some more... and next year... if possible, I would love to attend.”

“Ma would love to have you—we all w-w-w-would have. You would be more than welcome. B-b-but anyway. You guys can take off... I'm sure Brady's wanting to r-r-relax a bit.”

“Nope. We're doing the rides. Brady! Just about done?”

“Just a 'sec.”

Before visiting the rides, they went in the house a moment. The temperature was dropping, and the tee shirt was no longer enough. So, Rasalas grabbed his jacket. Brady went for just his vest, but also grabbed a hooded jumper.

Then, they crossed the yard and the road, to where the small midway had been set up. There were about eight rides set up, two of them aimed toward young children, while the rest were larger attractions.

“What first?”

“That one,” said Rasalas, pointing to a towering ride. It had two smaller wheels, each having eight seats. Those two wheels spun at the end of a larger boom, which was secured to a pair of tractor trailers. He guessed it to be easily ninety feet high.

“Skywheel. Been a couple years since I done this one.”

They quickly joined the queue, with a pair of security moving close to keep an eye on them. Surprisingly, the queue seemed to move rather quickly, and before Rasalas knew it, they were being secured in one of the seats.

“Next time just come to the front,” said one of the guys loading the seat, “You're both V.I.P.'s. You don't wait.”

Rasalas shrugged, as the lap bar was closed. He opened his mouth to respond, but the wheel began to move—along with the main boom, and quite rapidly, they found themselves at the top. The wheel now at the bottom was then being loaded.

“Bloody hell...”

Brady grinned. “You not scared of heights, are 'ya?”

“No, no, definitely not,” Rasalas answered, as the wheel continued to turn, “Just got my by surprise. But damn... this is wicked.”

“Still like my bike, though.”

“Just don't make love to it,” Rasalas smirked.

“Only thing that would make my bike better, is if it could fly.”

Rasalas again felt a lump rise in his throat, knowing how easy it would be to give life to his friend's dream. Yet, the statute absolutely forbid it. There was very little wiggle room.

“Ras?”

“Sorry.”

“Looked lost there a minute.”

“Just... thinking what it would be like to actually do... well, what you just suggested. Somehow I don't think the O.P.P. would like that a whole lot.”

Brady let out a chuckle. “It'd be fun though.”

“Oh yeah.” He thought for a moment, wanting to direct the conversation into safer territory.

“What you said on Friday... about having me come visit you... did you mean that?”

“Yeah, sure. You ever hunt before?”

“I don't know. Nothing I ever remember, I know that.”

“How 'bout fishin'?”

“Nope.”

“Bonafide city boy.”

“Guess so.”

“You're still young, there's hope,” Brady smirked. “Mom's gonna like you though. 'an if the Sawyers don't teach you to drive, I will.”

“Yeah, that would be wicked.”

Rasalas was startled again, as the entire ride was put into motion. It was truly epic, feeling the complex motion of the machine. It felt like they were making a complete revolution every fifteen seconds—fast, but not insanely fast. It was almost as good as flying on his Firebolt. His heart again ached at not being able to share such an experience with his new friend.

The ride at last came to a stop, with their wheel at the bottom. And, in short order, the lap bar was opened, and they were back on the ground.

“That one's a do-again, I think,” said Rasalas.

“Something else first. That one.” Brady pointed to a ride that had eight arms, with two seats attached to each one. It looked almost chaotic with the rhythmic rising and falling motion.

“Probably gonna need a po—something for my stomach after that one.”

The Spider, as Rasalas learned it was called, proved to be far more chaotic than he could have imagined. When they finally got off, he collapsed to the ground, heaving, spewing the contents of his stomach. If he had to compare the experience, it was like a badly-programmed—or malfunctioning port key.

Brady helped him to his feet. “You all right?”

“Yeah... God... need some strong mouthwash or something. Yuk.” He checked himself over, making sure he'd not gotten any sick-up on himself.

“'ya wanna go back to the house for a minute?”

“Yeah. God, that was... intense. Think I lost all sense of direction a minute in.”

Rasalas still felt unsteady on his feet, and was forced to lean on Brady for support as they returned to the house. No doubt, it had to be the most disorienting experience he'd had in the Muggle world—bar the attack on his person back in September.

In the house, Rasalas shut himself in his room for a moment, ensuring privacy, before locating a stomach-calming draught and a headache-reliever. Though both tasted absolutely terrible, they provided almost instant relief from the pounding head and churning stomach he had been suffering from. The Spider had really threw him for a loop. It now occupied the number two spot on his mental list of 'experiences that should not be repeated'. What occupied the top spot, you might be wondering? Being clubbed over the head and beaten to within an inch of his life.

There was a knock at the door.

“Ras. You all right?”

“Yeah. Just needed a few minutes.” Rasalas pulled the door open, to find Brady standing in the corridor.

“Feelin' better?”

“Much. Let's go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas gets a rude awakening, thanks to Casey's displeasure at one of her son's birthday gifts; Brady gets a rude awakening of his own under different circumstances; and an unwelcome visitor has Rasalas summoning both his solicitor and the Aurors..._  
>  _CHAPTER NOTES: Apologies for the number of notes here, though most are references to appropriate copyright holders._  
>  Rather interesting to note that Harry/Rasalas has fallen into the role of teacher, even though he's not a student at Hogwarts. Perhaps, a little later in the time line than canon, but still. Funny how fate works, no?  
>  _The radio interview was like pulling teeth for some reason. And as far as Crime Stoppers goes, yes, I used the actual number here, as they serve a valuable purpose. For those who do not know, Crime Stoppers is a non-profit agency that operates in most Canadian and American jurisdictions. They help local law enforcement solve crimes through anonymous tips and information._  
>  _Now, before people blast me for referencing music that was released 8 or 9 years after this event took place... it's AU, okay? And I also point out, I'm not using any of their current music (although I wanted to). Additionally, the track “Got a Feeling” should give everyone a very good clue as to who Tim Knight truly is. He will have limited air time again in the future._  
>  _(1) “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”, released as a single in 1979, and appears on the album “Million Mile Reflections”. Writers: Charlie Daniels, Tom Crain, “Taz” DiGregorio, Fred Edwards, Charles Hayward, and James W. Marshall. Released by Epic Records. (C) 1979, all rights reserved._  
>  _(2) “Got a Feeling”, released as a single in 2013 and appears on the album “Throwdown”. Writers: Noll Billings, Jeff Coplon, and Tim Hicks. Released by RGK Entertainment Group. (C) 2013, all rights reserved._  
>  _(3) The Havelock Country Jamboree is a 4-day music festival which takes place over the 3rd weekend in August, in Havelock Ontario. Many big-name country stars and legends have played the event, and in 2014, the event celebrated its 25th anniversary._  
>  _(4) “You Don't Know Her Like I Do”, released as a single in 2011 and appears on the album “Halfway to Heaven”. Writers: Brantley Gilbert and Jim McCormick. Released by Average Joe's and Valory Music Co. (Re-issue). (C) 2011. All rights reserved._


	9. Undesired Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas gets a rude awakening, thanks to Casey's displeasure at one of her son's birthday gifts; Brady gets a rude awakening of his own under different circumstances; and an unwelcome visitor has Rasalas summoning both his solicitor and the Aurors..._

109\. UNDESIRED CIRCUMSTANCES  
October 31 – November 2, 2005

> _“There are no extraordinary men... just extraordinary circumstances that ordinary men are forced to deal with.”_

_\- William Halsey_

it was nearly 10:30 before they at last left the rides. The crowd was thinning out, and it had been a while since any of the trains had been seen doing a circuit—a truck with a heavy trailer had been seen pulling out of the driveway a short while before, so it appeared that the miniature train rides were closed.

Going on a hunch, Rasalas made his way to the back yard, with Brady following. The pair of security guards left them once they crossed into the private yard itself.

His guess was more than accurate, as they found the Sawyers, along with Aaron, gathered around a large bonfire.

“Wondered when you guys would find us,” said Phil, indicating a pair of comfortable chairs that had been brought down from the deck.

“I spotted one of the steam guys leaving,” said Rasalas, as he took a seat, “I guessed everything was being shut down.”

“Mr. Thomas is still running, I think,” said Ryan, “B-b-but I think he's gonna shut down soon.”

“The Y6B's been put to bed?”

“Y-yeah. We just got here a few minutes ago. Ma was already here.”

“Mr. Gibson, Mr. Black, help yourselves to a beer,” said Phil, indicating an ice chest in between the chairs.

“Don' mind if I do.”

Brady reached in, and fetched two bottles, passing one over to Rasalas.

“Y'all have a real nice spot here.”

“It's been our home for a number of generations,” said Phil, “My great-great grandparents crossed over at the turn of the century on the _Carpathia_. The house was built in 1904 when the family got their finances in order. Of course, or property used to be a bit bigger, and considering the event we've just hosted, I now regret selling as much as I have.”

Rasalas smirked to himself as he took a swig of his beer. Phil's remarks further cemented the little idea forming in his head. Put up a nice little cottage across the road, but buy up the chunk of land altogether, and easily double the space available. There was no mistake, Rasalas had a great time over the weekend; the preparations put into it had been more than worth it.

“Perhaps I might have a word with my attorney,” said Rasalas, putting words to his thoughts. “How would you feel about acquiring a friendly neighbour?”

“Unlikely you'll be able to purchase the property,” said Phil, “Some developer bought it recently from the guy I sold it to. I wasn't happy to learn about that, I'll tell you that much. I've got my attorney fighting with the municipality, trying to have any sort of major development blocked. Last thing we need is a subdivision being put in across the road—exactly what the developer has in mind.”

“I'll talk to Kate in the next couple of days,” Rasalas promised.

“Aw shucks, and I thought we'd be gettin' rid of y-y-you,” said Ryan, though he then stuck his tongue out.

“If you're really nice, I'll let you expand the miniature rail across the road.”

“Municipality won't like it though,” said Phil.

“There are ways we can get around it,” Rasalas smirked.

Brady, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, and took off his cap. Rasalas smirked again.

“You look better without it.”

“Told 'ya before, I feel naked without it.”

“God... you know tomorrow's gonna suck, eh?” said Aaron, “We missed over a week of school.”

“We'll c-c-catch up,” Ryan answered, “And I don't go in until after lunch anyway.”

“Lucky you,” Aaron scowled.

“Why don't you have a whole day?” Rasalas wondered.

“It's one of the th-th-things about grade twelve. Mondays I have a half day. And Tuesdays are also a half-day, b-b-but the class I have is in the afternoon.”

“And you'll be using that time to catch up on the class material you missed, young man,” said Casey, leaving no room for arguments.

“Yeah, th-th-that's the plan, Ma.”

Rasalas listened as his friends continued to discuss the upcoming week. Getting back into some sort of a routine would be a good thing, he decided. There was still the GATB his occupational therapist was trying to schedule, never mind the review of his magical courses for his O.W.L. exams sometime in May and June. Kate wanted to schedule Apparition lessons... another letter needed to be sent to Sirius. There was a lot on his plate, matters that really needed tending to.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Phil and Casey both stood up.

“Don't be up too late, boys. A pair of you do have school to get ready for,” said Casey.

“'night, Ma.”

Casey leaned in, and kissed her son on the forehead. “Happy birthday, boy.”

Rasalas watched as the pair disappeared into the house.

“Some part of me says I never had that when I was growing up. Whoever raised me weren't that fond of me.”

“Blood wouldn' turn their back on each other,” said Brady.

“I'm not saying that's what happened. Just... there's been a few things that were nagging thoughts... that I've recently found out to be true, if that makes any sense.”

“Okay. Enough crappy thoughts,” said Aaron, “Ryan, you gonna share your birthday gift with us or not?”

Ryan smirked, before leaning forward and pulling a bottle out of a rolled up jumper under his chair.

“Uh, th-th-there should be shot glasses in the cooler.”

A minute or so later, furniture had been rearranged so they sat a little closer, and four shot glasses were filled with the amber liquid.

“So, uh... this w-w-was an awesome weekend, and today was, as Ras likes to say so much, wicked. So... yeah... uh, ch-cheers, guys.”

* * *

The following morning, Rasalas awoke to Casey's raised voice outside the door.

“How could you be so foolishly irresponsible, Phillip!”

“It was his birthday!” Phil was shouting back.

Rasalas groaned, hearing every word as though they were bouncing off the walls. His head felt about six times too big. He located his wand, pointed it at the door, and cast a silencing spell. The sound diminished, and he rolled over onto his back. God... needed a headache-reliever... stomach-calming draught... wow. Way too much alcohol, he realized. He'd made the mistake of trying to keep up with Brady.

He grinned at the memory. Brady turned out to be a happy drunk, more or less the life of the party. Given his profession, it just fit, Rasalas guessed. He'd ended up singing, with Aaron joining in, and Rasalas again grinned at the memory. It was goofy, but really cool too.

He lay there a few minutes, before dispelling the silencing charm, and sitting up. Yup, definitely need a couple of potions to get rid of the awful hangover. The whiskey packed a powerful punch, as he now knew.

It was a rather quiet breakfast table that greeted him. Casey cast him a disapproving look, but passed him a plate already loaded with food.

“Thank you.”

“I see you're perhaps a little more responsible than—”

“N-uh-uh,” said Rasalas, “I have personal remedy.”

Casey pursed her lips.

“Lucky for you. These gentlemen must suffer the consequences. Old enough or not—” she again pursed her lips at Aaron, “—putting yourselves into a stupor... good grief.”

Brady scowled, but said nothing, choosing to focus on his breakfast. It would likely only make her yell, and considering he'd been woken by it...

“So... uh... well... it was a good weekend,” said Rasalas, softly, “We really need to do this again.”

“Not sure if we'll do Halloween again, though... this was an incredible draw. Still don't have the gate total yet, but probably in a couple of days,” said Phil, also keeping his voice low. He knew too well what his son and his friends felt like.

“I think we should,” said Ryan, “I liked us r-r-r-running in the dark, it was really cool.”

“'an though I said it before, I'd love to come back,” Brady more whispered than spoke. “God... won't be doin' any singin' for a while.”

Casey again pursed her lips. “You boys kept us up until three this morning with your boisterous behaviour.”

Rasalas grinned. “When I build my house across the road, we'll have our parties there and not keep you up all hours of the night.”

“Rasalas Black!”

“What?” Rasalas smiled sweetly.

“Not so loud,” Aaron moaned, holding his head. He glanced up at the clock. “Crap. I gotta go. Gonna be real fun sitting in class today.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Aaron got up, and gave his friend a squeeze on the shoulder. “See you at lunch time.”

Rasalas only grinned at the interaction, as the young man left. Somehow, he had a suspicion Ryan and Aaron's relationship was a little more than 'best friends'. In fact, he'd bet a bag full of galleons on it.

Casey began to clear the table, and that was the signal for Phil to get up.

“Ryan, since you're free this morning, I need a hand with something.”

“Yeah, ssss-sure, Da.”

They quickly left the room, and with Casey flitting in and out, carrying dishes to the kitchen, left only Brady and Rasalas.

“I'm gonna miss you loads.”

“I'd say come with me now, but... shit's gotta get taken care of. Two weeks, an' things'll be good.”

“Still. Ryan's got Aaron... and this past month's been... unreal. It feels like, we've known each other a lot longer. Maybe in a past life or something.”

Brady let out a snort. “No such thing.”

“When you leaving?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Still some stuff needin' to be packed.”

“Your girlfriend.”

That got a brief smirk out of Brady. “She's last.”

Rasalas let out a sigh. “So tonight's your last night.”

“You got my cell number. 'an seriously. You got your own shit to straighten out.”

“Yeah, this is true.”

Brady slowly stood up, and carried his dishes into the kitchen, leaving Rasalas alone to his own thoughts. If Rasalas had to admit, he'd grown attached to the guy. How'd that happen?

He shook his head. Focus. There was a lot to do, namely getting Ryan a wand, scheduling a GATB, line up possible tutors... no, he didn't have time for... well, whatever it was between him and Brady.

The rest of the morning, Rasalas was once again holed up in his room, studying a second-year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. Kate had passed along the second-year syllabus from _Upper Canada Academy for Wizarding Studies_ , after explaining the farce of a teacher Rasalas would have had during his second year at _Hogwarts_.

Immediately following lunch, Rasalas met with Ashley, who informed him he was scheduled to sit the GATB the following Monday. She then asked about whether he'd thought of how he wanted to proceed with schooling, to which he'd answered, “I want to wait until the GATB results come back before making a decision.”

With the meeting over, he again retreated to his room with the intention of continuing his review. He passed by Brady's room, and caught a glimpse of him packing. The guy had partially moved in, pulling a number of things from the bus. Rasalas had certainly seen the inside of Brady's tour bus, and really, it seemed like he had more room there than in the small bedroom the Sawyers had offered. All the bedrooms in the house were in need of an expansion charm.

He let out a sigh, stepping into his room, once again trying to push thoughts of his friend aside. 'Get with it,' he snarled in his head, 'It's two weeks, I can make it just fine.' He sat down heavily, and pulled out his first year Charms text book. Focus. Review.

Unfortunately, only minutes later, he could hear Brady talking on his mobile, sounding more agitated by the second. Bad news, perhaps? Things fell silent a minute after, and so Rasalas put his mind back on his text book. The review would be good, since it was likely he'd be teaching Ryan the material being covered. And they still needed to go out for a wand. It would likely have to be on a Monday afternoon, or a Tuesday morning, since he wasn't in school during those times.

Sometime later, Rasalas could hear Brady once again talking on his mobile. Only a minute later, there was a loud _bang_ , and steps were heard in the corridor. Rasalas got up just as there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Brady entered, red-faced and looking angry.

“Looks like I might be stickin' around for a while.”

“What happened?”

“Bullshit with I.N.S. and Border Protection Services, they ain't lettin' me back in the country.”

“Oh. I... I'm sorry.”

“What's to be sorry for? Ain't your fault. Know where Mr. Sawyer is?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rasalas answered, as he stuffed his text book in a larger satchel he'd obtained.

“Gotta go talk to some people. Uh... might need a hand with some shit, 'ya mind?”

“No, of course not.” So much for the review.

* * *

Brady's sour mood persisted into the following afternoon, as both the tour bus and the tractor trailer left the property, on their way back to Georgia. He'd grabbed a few things from the bus, among them his guitar and journals that contained notes and ideas.

Phil and Casey had immediately permitted him to stay as long as he needed to, so that problem had been solved, but another loomed come the end of November: Brady's visitor visa would expire. Now Rasalas felt even worse, considering he'd been the reason Brady had travelled back to Canada in the first place. Perhaps he might mention the situation to Kate, see if she might have any advice. But for now.

“Where's your bike?”

“I... yeah, a ride's a good idea,” Brady agreed.

They were gone for the remainder of the afternoon, having once again gone up to Peterborough and Bobcaygeon, this time sticking to the many narrow back roads. Rasalas discovered his friend drove even faster when agitated, though that relaxed somewhat as they were on their way back to the Sawyers.

It was just after sunset when they stopped in Bowmanville, low on petrol. Brady once again obliged a couple of people with a picture, before going into the store to pay. He come back out, cursing and swearing under his breath.

“You got any cash on 'ya?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“None of my cards work.”

Rasalas furrowed his brow, but glanced up at the total on the pump, before pulling out a few bills from his pouch. While his friend went in once again to pay, Rasalas frowned. Something weird was going on. Barred from returning to the U.S., and now his credit cards don't work? Definitely time to talk to Kate.

It was nearly dark before they pulled into the Sawyers' driveway. Rasalas could tell Brady was just as pissed as he'd been when they left a few hours prior. The incident with his credit cards completely negated the entire purpose of going out in the first place.

“Thanks for bailin' me out back there,” he said, as he stowed the helmets in the side compartment and locked it.

“You've been a wicked good friend to me, it's only right I get to return the favour,” Rasalas answered.

“I don' like charity.”

“It's not charity. I know if the tables were reversed, you would do the same thing for me, right?”

Brady could only nod, as he replaced his cap, and they started walking toward the house. He let out a sigh.

“Guess you got your wish, me stickin' around.”

“But you wanted to go home. I'd never stand in the way of that. I... I'm gonna mention this to my solicitor. She has ways of... figuring things out. I mean, it's rather suspicious, that... not only are you barred from returning to your own country, but... now your bank cards aren't working.”

Brady could only give a nod, as they stepped onto the porch. They were about to go in the house, but voices from around back had them head in that direction instead.

“Hope they got beer,” he muttered.

“I'll keep you company,” Rasalas promised, “Not that I'll keep up with you. God, that was a painful wake-up call yesterday. Mrs. Sawyer knows how to yell, I know that much.”

“She yelled at'cha?”

“No, no, I heard her yelling at her husband. Walls are way too thin,” Rasalas answered.

They rounded the corner to find everyone was gathered on the back deck. An ice chest was again present, this time being placed under the table. A fire was crackling merrily in the chiminea—a small cast-iron outdoor fireplace that was stood in one corner.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Gibson,” said Casey, indicating a pair of vacant chairs.

“We went for a ride,” said Rasalas, sitting down and snatching two beer from the ice chest, and passing one to his friend.

“We figured that much,” said Phil, “I heard you two leave.”

“There's a few messages for you, I put them on the dresser in your room,” said Casey.

“Thank you,” said Brady, “Not wantin' to think about that shit right now.”

Casey glared at her visitor, while Ryan could tell he wasn't in a good place. “What happened?”

“Tryin' to get gas comin' back here an' I find out my cards don' work.”

“As I said, I'll talk to Kate. Something really weird going on.”

Ryan smirked, then said, “Thought y-y-you wanted him to stay.”

Rasalas scowled. “Not against his will. It's not fair to him, right. He had his own plans for the next little while, never mind my own. This is rubbish!”

Brady could only give a weak smile at the outburst from his younger friend. He blew out a breath. “Got a month or so to figure shit out. Not dealin' with this right now.”

“Did the pair of you eat already?” Casey asked, though she once again gave Brady a disapproving look.

“We stopped at a Wendy's a couple of hours ago.”

“Good choice. Better than McVomit,” said Aaron.

Rasalas looked at him funny. “Mc... what?”

“What he calls McDonald's,” said Ryan. That earned a snicker out of Brady.

Aaron made a disgusted face. “You don't wanna know what they really use for hamburger. Their food's nasty, and expensive.”

“Okay then. Uh... I'll keep that in mind,” said Rasalas, rolling his eyes.

“Trust me. Their food is crap.”

It was then there came a brilliant flash about ten feet away from the deck's steps, and from that, came a flash of golden-yellow flames that lit up the entire yard. Everyone was momentarily blinded, but when all could see again, the flames were gone, replaced by a man.

If Brady had to guess, the man had to be well over a hundred years old—he looked absolutely ancient. He had long silver hair and a beard to match, which was oddly tucked into the belt of his robes. The robes themselves, had to be the most outlandish piece of clothing possible, purple, covered with images of the moon and stars. Were they... moving?

If the man were a sight, the magnificent bird that now rested on the man's shoulder was something else. It somewhat resembled a swan, crimson-coloured, with long tail plumage. The musical call it let out was all but magical, as it lifted off, to land on a vacant chair on the deck. Brady momentarily followed its flight path, before his eyes fell back on the very strange man that had landed somehow in the yard.

Rasalas, meanwhile, had already gotten to his feet, seeming to know exactly who their unexpected visitor was.

“What are you doing here, Dumbledore?” he all but demanded.

“You have been a most difficult young man to locate, Harry,” said the man, “There are a great number of people who have been most concerned about your whereabouts.”

Rasalas let out a snort. “Oh. You mean your 'Order of the Roasted Turkey' and the misfits blind to your bullshit. And your feeble attempts to rob me of my estate. Or your attempts to blackmail my godfather into granting you access to the Black estate.”

“Harry, I understand things have been difficult for you—“

“The English ministry tried to _assassinate_ me, Dumbledore! Let's call it exactly what it was, rather than sugar-coating it. When that failed, they tried and convicted me in that farce of a trial! They discarded me like a useless piece of rubbish, rather than acknowledge the truth! No, all of you can go to hell.”

“Harry—”

“It's Mr. Black to you, Dumbledore, we're no longer on friendly terms,” Rasalas hissed.

“Harry—”

“Tell me, do you have a problem with your hearing? Or is your memory that short, that I have to repeat myself a third time, professor?” Rasalas spat.

Now, Brady stood up, joining his friend.

“I think 'ya need to go.”

Ryan, his parents, and Aaron also stood up.

“You're upsetting our guests,” said Phil, “Please leave.”

“As much as I would like to adhere to your wishes, there are urgent matters I must discuss with young Harry here.”

Rasalas reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Definitely gone 'round the twist. I have nothing to say to you. It's thanks to your meddling that I find myself in the situation I'm now in.”

“How do you mean?”

“I'm not getting into it. I can say that my life here's a hell of a lot better than my past life. Perhaps it's a good thing I'm only seeing it third-party... having to actually live the life I had... I think I likely would have offed myself first chance I had.

“You all wanted a martyr and a hero one minute, then called me a liar and a nutcase the next. So no. You can all fuck off,” Rasalas snarled, “Harry Potter died at the beginning of September. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure he _STAYS_ dead. You got that?”

Dumbledore was alarmed. The young man standing fifteen feet away was nothing like the young wizard he'd last seen in courtroom ten of the English ministry of magic. If anything, he looked like a young Sirius Black. No hair, and... he looked identical to the Muggle standing beside him. “Harry—”

“Are you truly deaf?!” Rasalas snarled.

Dumbledore produced his wand, but held it to the side.

“You're going dark, Harry.”

Now, Rasalas was forced to answer, producing his own.

“How is it you came to possess a wand?”

“I don't remember where I got it. But Mr. Sawyer's asked you to leave. So leave. I've got nothing else to say to you.”

“Harry, I—” Dumbledore made to raise his wand, but was forced to divert his attention as Brady hurled the now empty beer bottle he was holding. It narrowly missed Dumbledore's head by inches.

“ _EXPELLIARMUS_!” Rasalas snarled, sending Dumbledore's wand flying off into the grass to his left. The man himself went flying backwards.

“ _Accio_ wand!”

The captured wand zipped into Rasalas' outstretched hand, while Dumbledore tried to sit up.

“ _Stupefy_.” The ancient wizard's world went dark.

“What... what are you?” Brady asked, softly. Rasalas could see the man was actually shaking from what he'd just witnessed.

“I... I'm a wizard. You weren't ever supposed to know. I'm truly sorry. We... I... can someone fetch me a telephone? Need the Aurors here right away.”

“Aurors?” Brady sank back into the chair he'd been sitting in, but pulled out his mobile.

Rasalas took it, and quickly punched in the number Kate had given him.

“ _Kate Lewis,_ ” came the attorney's voice.

“Kate, it's Rasalas. We have an emergency here at the Sawyers. I need Aurors here right away.”

“ _Slow down. What happened?_ ”

“Dumbledore showed up unannounced.”

“ _All right. I'll fire-call the ministry and we should be there in a couple of minutes. Is there anything else you need?_ ”

“No. Just bring the Aurors. We're in the back yard.”

“ _I'm guessing you have him bound?_ ”

“Stunned. But we'll bind him as well.”

“ _Sit tight. We'll be there soon as we can._ ” There was a click.

Rasalas passed the mobile back to Brady, then pointed his wand at the stunned intruder. “ _Incarcerous_!”

Brady was surprised as thick ropes flew out of Rasalas' wand, to bind the intruder tightly.

“They'll bounce his ass all the way to England,” said Aaron, “I mean, if the magical government is anything like the... well... the Muggle one.”

“I think so.”

The crimson bird let out a musical call that Rasalas could almost swear sounded like a laugh.

“You... he knows who you were,” said Brady, as he reached into the chest and snatched another beer.

“Yeah, definitely. All that I've read about him, the stuff my solicitor's shared with me... he just wants to control me. Nothing more.”

Rasalas again pointed his wand at the incapacitated and bound captive. “ _Accio_ Dumbledore.”

It was as though a hook had snatched him up, and pulled him toward Rasalas' outstretched hand. Rather than catching him, he simply let the captive drop at his feet.

“Rasalas...” Casey admonished him.

“I'm not in the mood to be charitable. If I could have, I would have let his head bounce on the ground a few times; would've served him right.”

“Not all that constructive.”

“He's lucky I wasn't carryin',” Brady muttered, “Would've jus' shot his ass.”

“And wind up in jail,” said Phil, “You not being the owner here, and even if you were, the police would still arrest you.”

“Seriously?”

“Just drop it. Glad he did what he did,” said Rasalas, “No way I would've been able to stand up to him in a one-on-one fight.”

It was then there came a blur of limbs a little ways from the deck. Rasalas again raised his wand, but put it away, realizing they were friendly.

“Rasalas? Are you all right?” Kate questioned, hurrying over. Four Aurors had joined her.

“Yeah, I'm fine now.”

“Anyone hurt?” questioned one of the Aurors.

“Uh... no, sir. We... we were able to stun him before things got too far,” Rasalas answered.

One of the Aurors stepped forward. He was average size, with a narrow face and dark skin.

“I'm Stephen Jackson, Lead Auror. What happened?”

“The... the bird resting over there,” Rasalas pointed to the crimson-coloured bird which was still preening itself on the back of one of the chairs, “—brought this man—” Rasalas then pointed to the bound and stunned Dumbledore, “—with a flash of flames. I don't remember seeing someone be transported that way, but... he then demanded to talk to me.

“When we all asked him to leave, he produced his wand. At that point I was forced to do the same. Brady—I mean, Mr. Gibson here, distracted him by throwing a beer bottle, and I was able to stun him and call my solicitor.”

“We'll need to draw pensieve memories to go with your statement, but it sounds rather cut and dry to me. Mr. Gibson, did you actually strike Mr. Dumbledore with the beer bottle?”

“Uh... no, sir.”

“Good, good. Less complication,” said Jackson.

Now, the other three Aurors were banishing the ropes Dumbledore was secured with, and they then revived him.

“Professor Dumbledore. Welcome to Canada. Care to explain why you decided to circumvent normal channels and violate international procedures?”

“I am exercising my credentials as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. I am here to collect a wayward charge.”

“*cough* me *cough*” said Rasalas, scowling.

“And who might that be?” questioned the second Auror.

“Harry Potter.”

“And you believe he's here?”

Dumbledore pointed a finger at Rasalas. “He's been hiding under an alias since fleeing Britain at the beginning of August.”

“I see. And so, rather than speak with our Department of International Cooperation, you took it upon yourself to enter Canada illegally.”

“This is a rather simple matter—”

“Our minister would beg to differ,” said Jackson, coldly, “Whether or not this may or may not be your missing boy-who-lived is beside the point. You ignored international laws, professor. Please stand.”

“Gentlemen, as a member of the International Confederation of Wizards, I hold diplomatic immunity,” said Dumbledore, in an almost smug tone.

“And those titles are all held in suspension,” said Kate, “Including your claim of Diplomatic Immunity.”

“Please stand,” said Jackson, “Don't make us carry you. I'm sure such photographs would be the least you would wish to see in the media, considering your less-than-stellar reputation as of late.”

Dumbledore let out a sigh, and stood up.

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. You are being placed under arrest for entering Canada illegally, performing magic in front of non-magical individuals, and attempted assault of a wizard. You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay. You have the right to remain silent. If you surrender those rights, anything said may be used as evidence in the proceeding against you. Do you understand those rights?”

“Harry—”

“Shut up. So tired of your bullshit, old man,” Rasalas hissed, as magic-suppressing bracelets were snapped onto the headmaster's wrists.

The Aurors were also searching the man's robes, with one of them pulling out another wand.

“Wait. I... my wand,” said Rasalas, “That used to be mine.”

The Auror held it out, and Rasalas picked it up, giving it a wave. A shower of red sparks bloomed from the end of it.

“Harry—”

“Use that name again and I'll bust your nose a third time, old man,” Rasalas hissed, dangerously, “I've forgotten my old life, and I don't need you reminding me of it.”

“It's your destiny.”

“Shove this 'destiny' you speak of up your arse.”

While the Aurors continued to search his person, Rasalas then asked, “How is it you decided to show up here in the first place?”

“Through a letter I obtained from Sirius Black,” Dumbledore answered.

Rasalas glared at him. “Nice. So you infringed on my godfather's privacy in order to learn of my location. So the question is, did you take it from him before or after he opened it? Which crime do you want to admit to? The legal one, or the moral one?”

“Mr. Black, I was only concerned.”

“Uh huh. Did you open the letter yourself, or wait until my godfather opened it?” Rasalas questioned again.

“The letter could have been a port key.”

“And by that, we can also charge you with tampering with an individual's owl post,” said Jackson. Rasalas grinned evilly.

“And it will be argued that you have no jurisdiction,” said Dumbledore.

“In a court which handles civil matters, on the other hand, my client can most certainly seek damages,” said Kate, “Kate Lewis, speaking for Mr. Black here.”

“With regard to Sirius Black, it appears you have knowledge of his location,” said Jackson.

“Perhaps.”

“A most curious matter surrounding Mr. Black,” said Kate, “There is no record of any sort of trial for the accused. Tell me, Professor, why is it that, considering your considerable clout before the English Wizengamot, you failed to enforce due process?”

Brady arched an eyebrow. “Y'mean, someone's been thrown in prison 'an no trial?”

“It's exactly what they did,” said Rasalas, “I don't remember all that happened, but Sirius has told me most of it.”

Jackson seemed to think on the matter a moment. “Get him out of here. Put him in lock-up for the interim, we'll allow him his fire-call once matters here are completed.”

“Sir,” said the two Aurors flanking the old man. One twisted on the spot, and the three of them vanished with a _pop_.

Rasalas, meanwhile, thought for a moment, before tossing the wand he'd been using recently to Ryan. “Here. Use that until we can get you matched up with one at O'Toole's.”

“Th-thanks, man.”

Jackson arched an eyebrow. “You're magical.”

Both of Ryan's parents, meanwhile, stared at him, startled with this piece of information. Since when?!

“F-f-found out last week,” Ryan answered.

Jackson thought for a moment. “Well... that does change a few things. I assume, the pair of you are the property owners?”

“Phillip Sawyer,” said Phil, stepping forward, “This is my wife, Casey, my son, Ryan, and his friend Aaron.”

“Rasalas Black, and this is Brady Gibson,” Rasalas introduced.

“Ah, of course. The National Wizard's Standard ran an article about the show out this way on Tuesday. How long have you been a guest with the Sawyers, Mr. Gibson?”

“Uh... beginning of October.”

Jackson sighed. “All right. Normally, our next order of procedure is to bring in someone from the Obliviator's Office, but... that's out of the question, as we would likely do more harm than not.”

“Quite all right, Auror Jackson,” said Kate, “I'll be sure to explain a few things to Mr. Gibson here, and make sure he understands the importance of secrecy. I will also expect to see subpoenas within seventy-two hours.”

“Which is our next piece of business. You understand, Mr. Gibson, you will likely be called on to give testimony regarding what's happened here.”

“Yeah, kind of figured as much. Whatever he wanted, he was gon' hurt Ras. I'm not gon' stand by an' let that happen.” He blew out a breath. “This though... magic's real.”

“Very much so,” said Kate, “I know it's probably a massive shock to you, and trust me. Your reaction's rather calm, compared to some.”

“I... God, this is unreal.”

“Bear with us a little longer, we still have plenty of business,” said Jackson. “What happened to his wand?”

“Disarmed him,” said Rasalas, showing the captured wand.

“It's yours now,” said Kate, “It won't work for him again.”

“Yeah, kind of figured that. Nice to have my old wand back though.”

“Can 'ya use both together?” Brady wondered.

“Use more than one wand at the same time? Not impossible, but... I'm used to casting with my right hand,” Rasalas answered, as he produced his holly wand. “Maybe it's something I can work on.”

“Given statements made by the assailant, my client is also seeking political asylum here in Canada,” said Kate.

“Which will likely be granted, considering our review of the trial transcripts from August,” said Jackson, “It was abuse of power, cut and dry. No legal counsel present, no pensieve testimony allowed, the dismissal of witness testimony simply because she happened to be a squib. I'll have to speak to crown counsel on the matter. That will also carry to your godfather.”

“How quickly could a magistrate be located at this hour?” Kate questioned.

“An hour, maybe, given who your clients are. The government's been wanting to take a swipe at the English ministry's poor excuse for a justice system.”

“Rasalas, how quickly can you get word to your godfather?”

“I... it might take—”

He was startled, as the phoenix lifted off, to settle on his shoulder, and nip him on the ear.

“Hey, what—ow! Ruddy bird drew—”

It was then a glowing golden cage seemed to blink into existence around wizard and bird, if only for a moment.

Jackson had to clear his throat several times, also surprised by the event. “Well... I'd say, Mr. Black, you now have yourself a very unusual familiar. Witches and wizards with phoenix familiars are very rare.”

The phoenix let out another magical call as if in agreement.

“You know where Sirius is,” Rasalas guessed, to which the bird let out another trill.

“Well. That makes it simple. Can someone fetch me something to write a note with?”

“Got it.”

Aaron disappeared into the house a moment, coming back with a pad of paper and a pen. Rasalas quickly scribbled out a note, before rolling it up. The phoenix seemed to know what was needed, as it hopped onto the table, and held out a claw.

“To Sirius Black, if you please. Bring him here if he wants.”

The bird snatched the note, and vanished in another flash of golden flames.

“All right. I have to return to the ministry for a moment. Mr. Sawyer, if it's permissible, we'll conduct the interview here.”

Rasalas was confused. “Isn't it supposed to be a hearing?”

“It is. Doing it this way, we avoid either of you being in the ministry, as there are a few who might act inappropriately,” Jackson explained.

“Oh. By all means, then,” said Phil, “The dining room should be adequate.”

Jackson gave a nod, before Disapparating with a soft _pop_.

It was only a moment later, before there came another flash of golden flames, as the phoenix returned, bringing Sirius.

“Rasalas.”

“Sirius!”

The pair quickly met up, and briefly hugged.

“You're well? Did he harm you?”

“No. Didn't have a chance. C'mon, I'll introduce you to a few people... this is Phil and Casey Sawyer... their son Ryan, his friend Aaron, and Brady... and my solicitor, Kate.”

“Kate Lewis, Mr. Black. It's about time I met you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Sirius. “What happened to Albus?”

“He's been taken to a holding cell at the ministry. He'll be allowed a fire-call and assigned a solicitor if he doesn't have one,” Kate answered, “As to you, Mr. Black, I do need to have a word with you so we can properly present your story to the magistrate.”

“Come with me, I'll show you into the living room,” Casey offered, “My goodness, might need to put on a pot of tea.”

She led Kate and Sirius into the house, with Phil following. Rasalas sat down heavily in his seat, and blew out a breath.

“Charlie-foxtrot,” said Aaron.

Rasalas furrowed his brows. “A what?”

“Cluster-fuck.”

Brady's lips twitched, but he resisted the urge to laugh. This was not funny in the least. The magic thing was throwing him for a loop, but... the way the man had just... appeared out of thin air. It was quite likely the old man had planned to grab Rasalas and vanish the same way he'd come. Was it really that easy for... stuff to happen?

“He was gon' kidnap 'ya, right?” he finally asked.

“More than likely, yeah. Thanks for... doing what you did.”

“No different than some dumb shit bustin' into someone's house. Pull that shit in my house an' see what happens.”

He blew out a breath, then took a swig of his beer. “Still can't believe all this.”

“I know you're probably thinking I'm some sort of monster now. And the sad thing is, as I'm learning, there are some true monsters in the magical world. Just remember. I'm the same person you knew an hour ago.”

“I... I know. How... when did 'ya know what... what you were?”

“I don't know,” Rasalas answered, “It was likely just before I turned eleven. That's when a magical person gets invited to school.”

“W-w-wait. Why wasn't I told?” Ryan asked. Both he and Aaron had reclaimed their seats from earlier.

“If I had to guess... you were electrocuted when you were six, right?” At Ryan's slow nod, Rasalas said, “Well... I think your magic protected you from dying. But it also all but burned it out. So it took this long... over ten years, for it to get strong enough.”

“Well, you do read peoples' thoughts sometimes,” said Aaron, “You annoy your mom with it.”

“Legilimency,” said Rasalas, “Both Sirius and Kate have talked about it. It's a type of mind magic. How long have you been doing it?”

“It's gotten ssss-stronger over the past few years.”

“You can read peoples' minds. Seriously?” Brady questioned.

“Sometimes. And most of the t-t-t-time, it's only bits and pieces. But usually enough th-that I can figure out what they're thinking.”

“God, I cringe at the sort of thing you've seen in my head, Ryan,” said Rasalas.

“Your head's a m-m-mess, Ras. I think it's like... getting a whole bunch of sssss-scrambled messages all at once. You give me a headache.” He thought for a moment.

“There was this one m-m-memory. You had this thing, it l-l-looked like a gold coloured egg. You opened it... and it sounded like... someone dragging their nails down a chalk board.”

Rasalas seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah. I can sort of see it. It was the reward from some sort of competition I won. Everyone was gathered around me. But when I opened it... Ryan's description fits. God oh God, what a horrible noise. Think of... microphone feedback?” At Brady's nod, Rasalas said, “Multiply that by ten.”

Brady looked doubtful. “Don' sound like much of a reward.”

“As you'll quickly learn, there are a great many things in the magical world that tend not to make a whole lot of sense. That's coming from someone who's supposed to be living in it.”

“I'll try 'an keep that in mind.”

“Something else you'll need to know. Since everyone here knows the secret now, expect to see a lot of spell work. I'm reviewing for important exams at the end of the school year, and Ryan has an entire seven years of magical courses ahead of him.”

Ryan arched an eyebrow. “Seven?”

“We go to school for seven years. Had you been told when you were eleven... you would've sat for your N.E.W.T.'s already.”

“Newt? What's a n-newt?”

“Final exams at the end of your seventh year. I'll have to take them in two and a half years.”

“So you stop goin' to school in this world,” Brady guessed.

“Mostly, yeah. But... I don't know what happens after... God, so much I don't know. Just... I'll try to get answers to the stuff I don't know. Sirius will be able to help... and Kate—she's been brilliant getting information about my past life.”

“Rasalas.” Brady reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I ain't goin' anywhere. This is jus' throwin' me, y'know.”

“Oh. Well... thanks. Part of me was terrified how you'd react,” Rasalas admitted.

“What gave 'ya that idea?”

“Not everyone reacts well,” Rasalas answered. He then grinned madly. “Thing being... now that you know about my world... I can show you _my_ bad toy.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Rasalas.”

“What? He's taken me out on his bike twice now. Only fair I get to take him for a ride on my broom.”

Brady arched an eyebrow. “Broom?” Then it dawned on him, and he burst out laughing. “Question...” he finally managed, “D'ya cackle an' the whole bit?”

Now it was Rasalas' turn to crack up.

“Wait. You're serious.”

“No, Sirius is in the house,” Rasalas smirked. Brady responded by dumping the remainder of his beer on Rasalas' head.

“Okay then.” And Rasalas returned the favour.

“Fucker.”

“Wanker.”

“Shall we leave you two alone?” Aaron quipped, “I mean, you two seem to be having more than enough fun on your own.”

“Th-though... maybe they should just get a room.”

“Fuck off,” Brady scowled, pulling off his cap and shaking it, purposely sending spray at the speaker.

Rasalas, meanwhile, pulled out the wand he'd just captured, and pointed it at himself. “ _Evanesco_.” The sticky mess instantly vanished.

“The mess we got into a while back after runnin' the train... that would've been useful,” said Brady.

“But you weren't supposed to know. That's why I couldn't,” Rasalas answered, pointing his wand at Brady. “ _Evanesco_.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll show you guys some offensive and defensive magic down the road, but for the next little while... there's lots of useful stuff I can show. Ryan's mum will like some of the stuff I can do.”

Rasalas sat back in his chair, and blew out a breath, feeling a little better about the situation. Brady could have took it very badly. Kate had sent him a few statistics about Muggle reactions to blatant displays of magic. He gave silent thanks to whatever deity happened to be watching over him for the positive outcome.

It was then there came a blur of appendages in the yard again. Auror Jackson had returned with two ministry officials. Time for Sirius to get his freedom...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Both Rasalas and his godfather have their say before the law, thanks to the Canadian ministry; Kate begins to look into Brady's records; the Sawyers learn they're getting a new, friendly neighbour; and Dumbledore discovers his influence has no meaning, while being detained at the pleasure of the Canadian ministry._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Another lengthy chapter, where Dumbledore decides to stick his overly large nose where it doesn't belong, and in doing so, unleashing lots of chaos._   
> _So now here's the question: who's messing with Brady's citizenship records and his bank information?_


	10. Due Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Both Rasalas and his godfather have their say before the law, thanks to the Canadian ministry; Kate begins to look into Brady's records; the Sawyers learn they're getting a new, friendly neighbour; and Dumbledore discovers his influence has no meaning, while being detained at the pleasure of the Canadian ministry._

110\. DUE PROCESS  
November 2 – 3, 2005

> _“Indictments of any kind are serious. That being said, let's not forget that an indictment is not a conviction. We still have due process in this country.”_

_\- Rob Simmons_

A few minutes later, everyone was crowded into the dining room.

“This is Patricia Hoyt, and her court scribe, Lenny White,” Auror Jackson introduced them. Lenny was already pulling a number of things out of the large portfolio slung over his shoulder, including a covered clay bowl. Several pages of parchment were set up, along with quills.

“Those not participating, I ask you please remain from speaking while we are on the record. If you feel you cannot do so, then please leave the room,” said Patricia, firmly.

“It's for accuracy,” Lenny explained, “When we go on record, everything that is said will be recorded.”

“One word out of anyone not participating, and I'll cast a silencing charm on them,” said Rasalas, “We've got two issues I'd like to see resolved here and now.”

“If we're ready then. Mr. and Mr. Black, if you will both take your seats,” said Patricia, indicating seats across from her.

Both Rasalas and Sirius sat down.

“Begin recording,” said Lenny. The quills that had been up to this point laying dormant on the parchment suddenly lifted up, poised to begin writing.

“This hearing being held this second of November, in the matter of Black and the English ministry for magic,” Patricia began, “Madam justice Patricia Hoyt, with court scribe Leonard White, and lead Auror Stephen Jackson. The defendant, Sirius Orion Black, answering to charges; one count of participating in a terrorist organization, one count of conspiracy to commit murder, and thirteen counts of murder.”

“Kate Lewis, solicitor for the accused,” Kate spoke up, “My client has agreed to give testimony in his own defence while under Veritaserum. Pensieve testimony will also be drawn as supporting evidence to his innocence.”

“So noted. Court scribe. If you will administer the Veritaserum.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Lenny stood up, and produced a vial containing a clear substance, and circled the table. Sirius opened his mouth, and Lenny allowed three drops of the liquid to fall on his tongue. He then recapped the vial, and glanced at his watch. “We'll need a few minutes for it to take effect.”

Sirius gave a nod, and closed his eyes. He was minutes away from freedom. There would be a few questions, he'd give a few memories, and that was it. No more hiding from the Aurors, or worse... being a prisoner in his own home.

Brady, meanwhile, looked on with dozens of questions running through his head. This was a trial? Didn't they have to hold these kind of proceedings in an actual court? Where was the prosecution?

“For the record, please state your name,” said Auror Jackson.

“Sirius Orion Black.”

“And your current place of residence?”

“At a location that cannot be revealed as it's hidden by a Fidelius Charm,” he answered, his voice flat and monotone.

“At any time, did you in any way aid or partake in activities set in motion by a terrorist organization in Britain known as the Death Eaters?”

“No, I did not.”

“Shortly after Lily and James Potter gave birth to their son, they went into hiding to protect him. Were you a part of those plans?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And a later plan involved the casting of the Fidelius Charm on their residence. Is this true?”

“Yes.”

Auror Jackson glanced at a set of notes at his place at the table.

“Were you part of additional precautions put in place alongside the Fidelius Charm?”

“Yes.”

“By operating as a decoy.”

“Yes.”

“And that was because you agreed as a group, that you were the obvious choice for secret-keeper. Is this true?”

“Yes.”

“Who actually became the secret-keeper for the Fidelius Charm cast on the Potters' residence?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

“A former friend, a member of your close-knit group while you were students at Hogwarts. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

Auror Jackson glanced at his notes again.

“Turning now to the night Mr. and Mrs. Potter were murdered. When did you attend the residence?”

“Late. The exact time, I don't remember.”

“What did you find when you got there?”

“The door was blown open. James... he was felled in the hallway. I found Lily upstairs, in the nursery.”

“And Harry still alive in his crib.”

“Yes.”

“Harry being, Harry James Potter, James and Lily's son.”

“Yes.”

“What did you do next?”

“I meant to take Harry from the house... being his godfather. It's what Lily and James agreed on. That I would keep him safe if the worst would happen.”

“What prevented this from happening?”

“I found Hagrid at the door,” Sirius answered.

“The current groundskeeper and professor of Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing there?”

“He had come to collect Harry.”

“Why?”

“He said it was on Dumbledore's orders.”

“What was he instructed to do with Harry once he was collected?”

“He was to meet Dumbledore. He was forbidden from telling me.”

“What did you do after?”

“I told Hagrid to use my bike. It was parked in the back of the house.”

“And after?”

“I went to look for Peter.”

“Believing he had betrayed you.”

“Yes.”

“Take us to when you finally caught up to him. Did the pair of you exchange words?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He accused me of being a traitor, and nailed me with a powerful cheering charm.”

“What happened next?”

“He cast a strong blasting curse at a gas meter on one of the buildings nearby.”

“And you were in too much of a euphoric state to give any sort of pursuit.”

“Yes.”

“The state in which the British Aurors found you in, is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Were you offered any sort of legal representation before you were taken into custody?” Patricia questioned.

“No.”

“Was any sort of trial or hearing conducted with regard to this event, excluding this hearing?”

“No.”

“Auror Jackson, any further questions?”

“No, your honour.”

“I have no further questions. Court scribe, if you will administer the antidote.”

Lenny once again stood up, went around to where Sirius was sitting, and administered the antidote.

“If you will now draw the appropriate memory pertaining to the incident in question.”

“At once, Madam justice. Mr. Black, if you will produce the memories which cover the events in question.” Lenny indicated the pensieve.

Sirius produced his wand, and placed the tip at his temple. He began to pull, almost gingerly, and a silvery strand of a hair-like substance began to pull away. Brady was fascinated as this happened. It looked almost gasssy in consistency. Longer and longer it became, until Sirius gave it a final little tug, and it separated completely. He then dropped it into the clay bowl, causing the liquid in it to shimmer in the light.

“Sirius Black. Do you swear before all these witnesses, that the memory we are about to view is complete and unmodified in any way, shape, or form?”

“I do swear.”

Lenny tapped the clay bowl once with his wand, and what appeared to be a holographic image came to life at the centre of the table. The events unfolded exactly as Sirius had explained, beginning with his arrival at the Potters' residence, and ending with him being taken into ministry custody following the explosion on the street.

Patricia remained silent for several minutes, thinking over the testimony she'd just heard. Finally, she began, “The testimony I have heard here this evening paints a most disturbing picture of how badly things can turn out when conclusions are made based on assumption, rather than proper examination of evidence on hand.

Sirius Orion Black. Based on the testimony you have provided, and further evidenced by the pensieve memory provided, I find the charges levelled against you by our English counterparts to be unjust and illegal, and therefore have no bearing here within Canadian jurisdiction.

“Further, these findings will be circulated to the membership of the International Confederation of Wizards, with the hope that other jurisdictions will follow our lead. The accused has the right to due process, this is one of our tenets in a just society.”

“Thank you, madam justice,” said Sirius, softly.

“With this dismissal of charges here, comes the next matter of record.”

“My client wishes to claim political asylum and protection from magical England,” said Kate.

“Do you have a place to stay, Mr. Black?”

“I think we can make room,” said Phil, “We might have to have a couple of people sharing, but we'll manage.”

“Very well. Based on my previous ruling, I see no reason to also grant the application.”

“Thank you, madam justice.”

“Stop recording,” said Lenny. The quills all stopped, and he began to collect the parchments, replacing them with new ones.

“Rasalas... I never realized...” Brady managed, giving Rasalas' shoulder a tight squeeze.

“Sit.” Rasalas indicated the seat beside his own. Brady obliged, pulling off his cap, and rubbing his face.

“Your life really sucked.”

“You have no idea... and I'm still seeing all this rubbish as a third party. I'm not kidding... had I lived through it (and somehow I did), I would have jumped off the highest bridge I could find.”

“You don't really mean that, Mr. Black,” said Patricia, sharply.

“My solicitor's been doing plenty of digging regarding my life up to the beginning of September. It's been unpleasant.”

“I got your back, an' I mean that,” said Brady.

“Are we ready to continue?” questioned Lenny.

“If Mr. Black is ready.”

“I'm ready,” Rasalas answered.

“Begin recording,” said Lenny. The quills once again stood up, ready to begin writing.

“This hearing being held this second of November, in the matter of Black nee Potter and the English ministry for magic,” Patricia began, “Madam justice Patricia Hoyt, with court scribe Leonard White, and lead Auror Stephen Jackson. Point of order, complainant appealing his conviction of underage sorcery, and application for political asylum within Canadian jurisdiction.”

“Kate Lewis, solicitor for the applicant. My client submits the transcript of the hearing held on the second of August this year into evidence.”

Kate reached into her portfolio, and produced a stack of pages, sliding them across the table.

“The court shall record the submission of a transcript, dated August 8, 2005, carrying the seal of the clerk of the Wizengamot,” said Lenny, “The date of session is August 2, 2005, in the matter of Wizengamot vs Harry James Potter. Charges of casting the Patronus charm in the presence of a Muggle.”

He slid the transcript to Patricia.

“The articles of note, I have marked with red tabs,” said Kate, referring to a set of notes of her own, “The first, I find perhaps the most inflammatory of anything that follows, the interrogators saw fit to dismiss anything that Mr. Black nee Potter attempted to say when he was questioned. That in itself violates their own laws, your honour.”

“I would have to agree,” said Patricia, as she skimmed the indicated section.

“The second section, covers the testimony of a squib who lived near Mr. Black nee Potter's relatives on Privet Drive. Her testimony clearly describes what someone would experience, when confronted by a Dementor. Yet, the Wizengamot chose to dismiss this testimony.”

Patricia skimmed through the second section.

“Mr. Black, given the fact you were not allowed to mount a proper defence, that alone is grounds for me overturning the verdict, which I will now do.”

“Though he's already been practising magic here. Will that reflect on his record?” Sirius questioned.

“No. Given we have no record of the trace, the ministry will not be sending out warning letters or fines,” said Patricia. “It is curious to know how this may have happened, Mr. Black.”

“My client declines to answer on record,” said Kate.

“We then move to the second part of this hearing. You are applying for political asylum within Canadian jurisdiction.”

“Yes, your honour,” Rasalas answered.

“You've been using the name Rasalas Black since arriving here back in August?”

“Yes ma'am. Both my godfather and Gringotts recommended I make the change.”

“This is a legal name-change?”

“It is,” said Sirius, “Show her the ring.”

“Right.” Rasalas tapped one of his right fingers, and the Black heir ring appeared.

“Very well,” said Patricia. Brady, meanwhile, grabbed Rasalas' hand so he could have a closer look at the ring.

“Y'know... someone might get the wrong impression,” Rasalas smirked. Brady quickly let go, but Rasalas left his hand where it was.

“Mr. Black...” said Lenny, with a glare.

“Sorry.”

“I find the application in order, and so grant the petition. Additionally, to prevent the repeat of an undesirable event which transpired earlier, I'm ordering elevated protection detail for the property. Auror Jackson here will coordinate proper coverage. We are off the record.”

“Stop recording.”

“Thank you, madam justice,” said Rasalas, inclining his head.

“No, it should be us thanking you, young man. Voldemort threatened us just as much as he did England. You and your family stopped him before he could claim complete victory.”

“His mother was a powerful witch, never mind his father,” said Sirius.

“No matter, it was a brave and noble thing that should not be forgotten, and England's Wizarding community should know better than to bite the hand that feeds it.”

“We really do have to be going,” said Lenny, as he packed the last of the papers in his portfolio, “This still has to be filed with the clerk.”

“Yes, indeed. I bid you all a good night.”

The pair of them left the room, and a moment later, there was a noisy  _pop_ .

“So... th-th-that's it?” asked Ryan, taking a seat at the table.

“That's it. As far as we're concerned here, he's been cleared of the charges, and is under our protection,” Kate answered, “Though I might make a suggestion that we make this a permanent solution.”

“Citizenship,” Rasalas guessed.

“Exactly. Both you and your godfather, perhaps.”

“It would send a rather incendiary message back to England,” said Sirius, “But really. Dumbledore's tried his way. It doesn't work. So it's time to try something new. What would we have to do?”

“I'll get the paperwork started straight off. Or, at least, when I get into the office tomorrow. I know there's a lot to discuss, but this is getting ridiculously late, so I'd suggest that we get some rest and start fresh in the morning.”

“Yes, I couldn't agree more,” said Casey, “We still have to sort out sleeping arrangements.”

“I can sleep with Harry—Rasalas, I mean,” said Sirius.

“Mr. Black, that may not exactly be proper,” said Casey.

“Rasalas can stay in my room,” said Brady, “You can have his.”

“If you're sure. I mean, I'm a sorcerer. I might eat your young,” Rasalas teased. Brady rolled his eyes.

“I see some of your dad's humour is rubbing off,” said Sirius.

“A little. Right. So, guys, once again. My godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius. This is Casey and Phillip Sawyer, their son Ryan, his friend Aaron; and last but not least, my new best friend, Brady.”

A round of handshakes ensued.

“Do I detect a bit of southern English there?” Sirius questioned, as he shook hands with Brady.

“Georgia.”

“Ah, of course.”

“All right you lot. Rest. I mean it,” said Kate, as she stood up, and collected her papers into her portfolio. “I'll drop by likely around nine tomorrow.”

She stepped out of the room, and there came a soft  _pop_ .

Brady furrowed his brows. “So help me understand somethin'. People can just... jump from place to place.”

“It's called Apparition,” said Sirius.

“Kate's lining me up with an instructor, though stuff like this keeps happening and it keeps getting pushed back.”

“Well, we'll make sure to change that. I would suggest we talk to Remus about tutoring; I'm positive he'll be happy to help you out with your schooling.”

“Remus?”

“You don't remember him?”

“Sirius. I'm not kidding. I remember nothing from before the beginning of September, save for flash-memories that usually have no place or context. Everything I know about myself... it's been seen in the third person.

“These guys have been absolutely brilliant in looking after me... Mrs. Sawyer's become an honorary mother to me, and Ryan an honorary brother.”

“Thank you all for looking after him. His correspondence suddenly stopped at the beginning of September, had a lot of us gravely concerned. Albus believed he'd died. But I knew better, given his heir status. Had he truly died, the ring would have been returned to Gringotts.”

“Heir to what?” Brady asked.

“My estate,” Sirius answered, “My dear old mother's about died again on a number of occasions, with me telling her what my godson here's been doing. You've been on a bit of a spending spree as of late.”

“Yeah, providing security for the weekend event here was a bit steep. Nearly a half-million Canadian, if I remember correctly.”

“It was very uncomfortable for most of the evening back at the house when I told her,” Sirius smirked, “The Order had great difficulty holding their meeting.”

“You'll share a pensieve memory of that, right?”

“Oh, I will, pup. Winding up my dear old mother's something of a sport.”

“You hate your mom? Why?” asked Brady.

“My mother despised me when I wouldn't tow the family line. First in generations to be sorted into Gryffindor rather than Slytherin, the first in generations to turn my back on our family's notorious reputation. Harry—or Rasalas' father and I were best friends; his family practically became mine when I was kicked out of the house.

“She died while I was in Azkaban, but was thoughtful enough to leave behind a large portrait of herself. It now frames the hallway in the family's ancestral townhouse in London.”

“Wizarding portraits are 'alive' in some way, keeping some of the person's personality and memories in it,” Rasalas explained, “One of the few memories I've remembered clearly, is of Sirius' mother's portrait. Even dead, she's a very unpleasant woman.”

Brady scowled. “Sounds like fun.”

Sirius let out a yawn. “Right. It's late here, which means it's outrageously late—or early, back in London. And since it's unlikely your room has more than one bed, we'll need to make a change or two.”

“And I'll be setting up Auror patrols of the property,” said Jackson.

“Feel free to come and go as you need to,” said Casey, “I'll leave the coffee pot on.”

“That's a generous offer, ma'am.”

* * *

Casey was just clearing the plates away after breakfast, when there was a soft pop outside, and moments later, there was a knock at the door. Ryan got up to answer it, and only moments after that, he brought Kate into the room.

“Good morning everyone. I hope everyone was able to get adequate rest. I do have a few things to go over.”

“Is Dumbledore still being held?” Sirius questioned.

“Yes, he's still being detained in a holding cell at the ministry,” Kate answered, “He'll be arraigned this morning. It's known the man has a lot of political clout, but he did brazenly violate the law.”

“Yes, that he does,” Sirius agreed, “The better question, what are the chances of him being found guilty of what he's been charged with?”

“Very high, Mr. Black. Our system prides itself on impartiality. Dumbledore will face a similar hearing as was held here last night. With your godson's testimony alone, it'll be more than sufficient for a conviction. However, I would like all of you present to reinforce the evidence, to leave no room for doubt.

“Now, even in the unlikely event he should escape conviction, he will be barred from ever entering the country again. I still find it incredible such an intelligent, wise individual would commit such a... well—”

“Dumb move,” Rasalas finished, “But knowing what I know about my past, it doesn't seem to really matter a whole lot to him, now, does it?”

“Maybe he was drunk or somethin',” Brady suggested.

“No. The man was more than aware of what he was doing,” said Rasalas.

“Will the normal—I mean, non-magical authorities be told about him?” Aaron wondered.

“Yes, most definitely. When I said banned, I meant it. And knowing how the U.S. cooperates with us, he'll likely be banned from entering the U.S. as well. Again, this is something I wouldn't expect from someone who is well versed in international law.

“Now. The largest matter of immediate concern, is to establish property wards. Though I understand Rasalas and his godfather are only a guest, Dumbledore now knows where you live. This puts everyone here at risk, whether my clients remain here or not.”

“Whatever the cost, I'll see it covered,” Sirius promised, “In fact I might suggest bringing in a warding team from Gringotts.”

“I was thinking of something along the same line,” Kate agreed.

“Will the ward interfere with the business?” questioned Phil.

“No. Not at all. It will, however, prevent someone from just Apparating or using a port key to get onto the property. Should we need to, we can also prevent unwanted individuals from coming onto the property at all.”

“Uh... I think that needs to be put in place anyway. There are individuals who should never be allowed near my godson, starting with Albus Dumbledore.”

“The wards won't effect non-magical p-p-people?”

“Yes and no. If you black list someone, it won't matter whether they're magical or not. They'd bounce off the wards.”

Aaron gave a smirk. “Yeah, I know exactly what you're thinking, Ryan... black listing three quarters of the school.”

“Revenge is a dish best sssss-served cold,” Ryan smirked.

Casey pursed her lips at what her son was suggesting, but Phil only gave a smirk of his own.

“Now. Next item I do need to cover. Mr. Gibson, I was under the impression you were supposed to return to the U.S. yesterday.”

Brady scowled. “Was. Somethin' in my I.N.S. file's messed up an' they won' lemme back in the country.”

“I see.”

“And his credit cards and his bank card all stopped working last night,” Rasalas threw in, “We found that out coming back from Peterborough.”

“What were you doing in Peterborough?”

“Went for a drive,” Brady answered, “I.N.S. bullshit pissed me off, an' Ras suggested it, so we went.”

Kate had already produced a note pad and a dicta-quill, and it was scratching out notes as they spoke.

“I'll have someone back at the firm have a look and figure out what's wrong. That's if I have your permission.”

“Can't make it worse than it already is,” said Brady, with a shrug.

“So it's expected that you may be a guest of the residence for some time yet.”

“It's a bit tight, but we can make do.”

“And on that,” said Rasalas, “Something I got to thinking about. Though with Sirius here, he'd probably be better-able to make sense of this than I will... uh... Mr. Sawyer, you sold the property on the west side of Bennett Road sometime ago, right?”

“Yes. Would've been about six years ago now. The owner then sold it to a developer who plans to build a subdivision.”

“Something you would rather not see happen,” Kate guessed.

“How difficult would it be for me to buy the land?”

“Well... the ethical issues aside, it would likely be very expensive, Mr. Black.”

“Say, Sirius, what would you think, of the Blacks setting down new roots here in Canada?”

“We could get rid of Grimmauld Place, and a few others, but yes, we could most certainly do something like that. Miss Lewis, the Black estate is willing to pay up to one billion dollars Canadian for the property in question.”

“One... billion...” Brady mouthed. “That's with a 'B', right?”

“You heard exactly,” said Rasalas, grinning madly.

“Good lord, son, you're loaded.”

Rasalas burst out laughing.

Kate, meanwhile, simply sat there, open-mouthed, at what she'd just heard. She knew the Blacks had a lot of clout, but that... there it was. To offer that kind of money off-hand... Sirius and his godson would turn the Wizarding world on its head, one way or another.

“Well now...” she finally said, after clearing her throat several times, “I'll... I'll need to determine the current owner is. This will likely take some time.”

“We'll need to line up an architect... and I'll need to talk to my account manager. Uh... Mr. Sawyer, we're going to need a connection to the floo network.”

Phil looked confused. “A what?”

“Your fireplace is nearly the right size, but in essence... it's a method of travel in the Wizarding world. It can also work somewhat similar to a telephone, in that one can talk to someone else through the fire.”

Brady let out a snort. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

“It will be more convenient if one's installed,” Kate agreed, “And given Ryan is a wizard, there will be no trouble getting it done. If I can borrow your telephone once we're done meeting, I can get in contact with someone at Floo Regulation. With luck we might have someone in by the end of the day.”

Sirius shook his head, but grinned. “It would never happen back in Britain. Installing a floo connection in the house of a Muggleborn? The application would be laughed out of the office.”

“Such discrimination isn't tolerated here, Mr. Black,” said Kate, “Witches and wizards are all equal under the law, and furthermore, it's made very clear that a witch or wizard is no better than non-magicals, or Muggles, as you refer back in Britain.”

“Muggle... that makes us sound stupid or somethin'.”

“We try not to use the term here, Mr. Gibson, as yes, it can be interpreted that way.”

“It's the old pureblood rubbish my mother and father were always going on about,” said Sirius, “That wizards were better than non-magicals. And purebloods were better than half-bloods and Muggleborn.

“Thing they fail to recognize, is that over the past couple of decades alone, some of the strongest witches and wizards in our world continue to be of either half blood, or Muggleborn. One of Rasalas' first friends continues to be near the top of her class as far as her grades go. She's a Muggleborn, just like Rasalas' mother, who was another incredibly bright young witch.”

“It's a trend that also applies here, Mr. Black, though the purebloods here tend not to say a whole lot about it. The Canadian Wizarding community continues to be strong and flourish, because of the constant infusion of fresh blood.”

“And until England gets that, our community will remain stagnant, if not continue to wither. Every witch or wizard who leaves England, is one more nail in the coffin,” said Sirius, “I know that. Remus knows that. James knew that. And I'm pretty sure Albus knows that too. But most people are too closed-minded to realize the damage that's being done.”

“Never mind the two Wizarding wars in the past hundred years alone... and the one that's on the horizon,” said Rasalas, “Killing magical families won't help matters either.”

“Which is exactly what Voldemort and his followers continue to do.”

“Sounds like stuff has to change from the bottom up,” said Aaron, “Whole attitudes need to change.”

“You said it exactly,” Sirius agreed, “But as it stands right now, no one has the political clout to do exactly that.”

* * *

It had been a most unpleasant night for the Hogwarts headmaster, being forced to share a cell with a number of other individuals being detained for one reason or another. To be treated like a common criminal, it was most humiliating, and it was made far worse, considering the people in the cell with him knew who he was.

“My, how the mighty have fallen,” one wizard had sneered.

The indignity continued that morning as he was led into a court room that looked better suited in the Muggle world. He wasn't even allowed to speak in his own defence, as a pair of solicitors debated the matter with the magistrate.

“Your honour, the defendant entered the country illegally, then attempted to curse a young wizard in front of a group of non-magical people. It can only be speculated as to exactly what his intentions were, but be it as it may, we have to treat this no different than we would if he carried the Dark Mark—”

“Objection.”

“Sustained. Refrain from inflammatory remarks, councilor.”

“Withdrawn. I do emphasize, however, that given the amount of political power the defendant has at his disposal, the crown feels he is a flight risk. He should therefore be remanded to ministry holding until trial date.”

The appointed solicitor scoffed. “Insinuating my client carries Dark Mark? A most inflammatory, biased, and untrue remark, your honour! The defendant has nothing but a long list of great accomplishments, all for the betterment of our world. To lock him away would only tarnish a great symbol of the light, one we cannot lose in these troubling times.”

The magistrate seemed to think a moment. “Yes, we are very much aware of Mr. Dumbledore's lengthy list of accolades and accomplishments, but that is neither here nor there. Given recent legislation, I am imposing special direction, as his actions fit the statute. Defendant is remanded to our detention facility at Toronto Island until trial. Next!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Ryan gets his wand, and the wand maker in Toronto has an unexpected reaction seeing Rasalas' wand; Brady experiences his first trip via port key and his first ride on a broom; and Rasalas has a most unsettling dream..._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Poor Dumbledore. If he expects special treatment from Canadian authorities, he's sadly mistaking. The Canadian ministry will most certainly react poorly to a witch or wizard entering the country illegally, no matter WHO they might be. Add to it, the fact that Dumbledore attempted to curse someone, they aren't going to play nice._
> 
>  
> 
> _Onward and upward, we now see Sirius and Harry/Rasalas begin to make plans for the long term. What sort of message will that send to England? Never mind the message being sent by Dumbledore's detainment._


	11. Wands and Wards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ryan gets his wand, and the wand maker in Toronto has an unexpected reaction seeing Rasalas' wand; Brady experiences his first trip via port key and his first ride on a broom; and Rasalas has a most unsettling dream..._

111\. WANDS AND WARDS  
November 2 – 8, 2005

> _“...So Death crossed to an Elder tree near the river bank, snapped off a twig from one of its branches, fashioned a wand fifteen inches in length with the core of a Thestral hair, and gave it to Antioch, promising him that the newly-created Elder Wand would be the most powerful wand in creation.”_

_\- Beedle the Bard,_ The tale of the Three Brothers

With all of the excitement of the previous day and a half, there hadn't been a whole lot of time to explain things to Ryan's parents. The pair seemed to take everything in stride, and perhaps that was a good thing, all considering. Dumbledore's unexpected and unwelcome arrival had really thrown a spanner in the works.

The morning of November 4 gave Rasalas and his godfather a chance to explain a few things, though the time was still rather tight, with an appointment being set for 10 am at Gringotts. Still, both wizards felt it was only right that Phil and Casey have a little insight into what their son truly was.

They had all moved into the living room—or the lounge, as the English would call it, with everyone taking a seat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, think back to when your son was still really young—just before he would have started school,” Sirius began. “Did things happen around him that were... different, or odd? Things that you couldn't explain the reason for?”

“Well... there were the light bulbs that kept burning out in his bedroom when he was a toddler,” Phil remembered.

“And the time the T.V. Suddenly started flicking through the channels for no reason. Ryan was sitting in his playpen, giggling up a storm.”

“I sort of remember that. You guys were ignoring me, and I w-w-was like, 'ignore th-th-this!',” Ryan laughed. “Wait. There was this incident in kindergarten. This older girl, sh-sh-she kept calling me carrot top. So suddenly, one d-d-day, she said it, and, _pop_ , her hair was this beet-red colour. It was epic.

“She learned real quick, getting s-s-s-served a dose of her own medicine.”

“You were about five, dear,” Casey remembered, “All the parents were talking about it. Then when he was electrocuted, it all stopped.”

“Very likely, when he was electrocuted, the electric current likely fried his magical core, but in doing so, it saved his life. So, though he were no better off than a squib—someone with knowledge of magic, but unable to actually practice it—he lived,” Sirius explained.

“But in eleven years, it's... it's r-r-rebuilt itself,” Ryan guessed.

“The best way you could put it, yes. It's been able to heal itself. Tell me, your skill at Legilimency, has it gotten stronger in the past few years?”

“Yeah.”

“Legilimency?”

“It's a type of magical mind art. Mrs. Sawyer, think of a colour that's not your favourite. Ryan, you tell your mother what it is.”

“Um, pink.”

“Good grief. And I thought he was only able to pick up only partial thoughts.”

“That's a good way of putting it, I guess. Thing being, his ability has become stronger, because his core is getting stronger.”

Casey thought for a moment.

“Had he not been electrocuted, what would have happened? When would we have found out?”

“Just before he turned eleven. He would have received a letter from a magical school here—I'm not sure what it's called or where it is—but there would have been an invitation to attend.

“That brings us to the next item that needs to be dealt with. Though Harry—I mean, Rasalas here, has loaned him a wand, it will never work as well as one that's been matched to him.”

“As I've already promised, I'll pay for his wand, as a birthday gift—although belated.”

“I know you'll likely have a load of questions, and I promise we'll answer them the best we can. But keep in mind, being a wizard doesn't make him any less human,” said Sirius, “It's only one part that makes him who he is.”

Casey smiled. “He already knows that. It's only one more thing that makes him unique, and there's not a thing wrong with it.”

“Mr. Black, we are both very proud of the young man our son has become,” said Phil, “I get the sense that some families have abandoned their children because of their ability.”

“Yes, it has happened,” Sirius answered, with a frown. “I don't know how that would be dealt with here, but the English ministry typically doesn't do a whole lot, since in most cases, the child is Muggleborn.”

“Typical ministry crap,” Rasalas muttered.

“So the wand. Where do we get it?” questioned Phil.

“In nearly the same place as the bank is,” Rasalas answered, “Uh... Mr. Sawyer, maybe you should go with Sirius to Gringotts. The rest of us will go see about getting Ryan a wand.”

“You go with Ryan, dear,” said Phil.

“All right. So it's nearly ten o'clock, and the bank frowns on us being late. Where's Mr. Gibson?”

“Having a lie-in. He was working on new material or something when I went to bed,” Rasalas answered, “I'll let him know we're going.”

Rasalas climbed the stairs, and stepped into the room they were sharing, only to quite literally collide with Brady, who was coming out into the hall. The pair crashed to the floor, with Rasalas apologizing profusely.

“I didn't hurt you?”

“Fuck off, I ain't made of glass.”

Rasalas only grinned, and offered his hand, helping Brady off the floor.

“I was just coming to see if you're coming with us. We've got to go into Toronto.”

“The meeting at the bank,” Brady remembered, as he collected their jackets.

“Sirius and Mr. Sawyer are meeting Kate there. The rest of us are going with Ryan to get his wand.”

Brady threw on his jacket, and checked his wallet was still in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Les' go.”

Back in the parlour, they found Auror Jackson had joined them.

“Good morning all. So here's the rule,” he began, “We'll be joined by at least two additional Aurors, though they'll be disillusioned. I'll be with you in plain sight.”

“Sure. Thank you,” said Rasalas.

Sirius was surprised. “My pup, you have changed. Last year, you would have protested high and low at having such protection.”

Rasalas shrugged. “Whoever I was last year died in September. Like I said to Dumbledore, I plan on keeping it that way. If the government is willing to provide a protection detail, I'm not complaining. I'm only taking advantage of resources and aid given.”

Sirius could only nod in agreement. It made perfect sense.

“All right. So the rules of travelling by port key, for those who haven't already done so,” said Auror Jackson, as he produced an old aluminium pie plate. “When I tell you to, put a finger at minimum on the object. When triggered, you will be compelled to hold onto the object until we arrive at the programmed destination. When you let go, try and keep your feet out in front of you, it'll make the landing much easier than not.”

Auror Jackson touched the pie plate with his wand. “ _Portus_ .”

The object shimmered blue for a moment, before falling still.

“All right. Everyone gather around, and put a finger on it.”

Brady thought it looked a little goofy, but followed the others' lead. He heard Jackson command “Activate”... and it felt as if he'd been snagged about the naval with a giant hook. The ground was quickly left behind, and he could feel people on either side of him, the wind howling about—it was almost like being flung through a tornado, if he could compare it to something. And then—

He was free. Remembering what Jackson had said, he tried to get his feet out in front of him, but the experience had left him disoriented, and he slammed into the ground on his backside.

“Bloody hell... need to re-shoot that landing, I think,” Rasalas muttered beside him.

A chuckle from behind them revealed that both Sirius and Auror Jackson had landed on their feet, as had Phil. He was already helping his wife back to her feet.

“All right, love?”

“I'm perfectly well. Good grief,” said Casey, looking around.

Rasalas had scrambled to his feet, and now helped Brady. Gone was the parlour, and they now found themselves standing in the middle of a square, with shops on most sides. One side, however, contained a massive marble-white building.

“All right. Mr. Sawyer, if you'll follow me. Kate should already be waiting for us,” said Sirius.

“And I'll take these guys to O'Toole's. It's over there.” Rasalas pointed to a small shop on the opposite side of the square. The lettering on the awning, painted in a rather non-descript, but elegant font, read:

_Jason O'Toole_  
 _Maker of fine wands and channelling devices_  
 _Est. 1876_

The shop itself was, much like Ollivander's, lined with what seemed like hundreds of tiny boxes. A difference, however, was in the number of taller sticks which were kept behind a long glass case along a side wall. A display case contained a few wands, along with a flood of rings.

“Rings?” Ryan arched an eyebrow. “I th-th-thought it was just wands.”

“Rings, staves, and wands,” spoke a stranger, appearing in a doorway leading to the back of the shop, “We also enchant amulets, bracers, and a number of other oddities as a focus, if you might be interested.”

the speaker was in his thirties, slightly taller than he was, with a slim build. Like most of the witches and wizards in Canada, he wore Muggle clothing—this time charcoal grey dress pants, and a plain white dress shirt. His hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and a pair of glasses were stuffed in one of the shirt pockets.

“What can I help you all with?”

“My friend here has just discovered his magical gifts,” said Rasalas.

“Well now. Step over here,” Mr. O'Toole said, indicating Ryan step onto a spot marked with a five-point star. Ryan glanced at Rasalas, and at his nod, he stepped onto the marker. Mr. O'Toole, meanwhile, glanced at the rest of the party that had stepped into his shop.

“I note that three of you are not magical. Channelling devices react unpredictably when handled by someone who is not magical, so I would ask you not touch anything here. Auror Jackson. I gather you're chaperoning this lot? Let me see, maple, Hippogriff feather, sturdy, if I remember correctly?”

“It is,” Auror Jackson answered, with a grin.

Mr. O'Toole refocused on the rest of the group. “Now, I assume one of you is a parent or guardian?”

“Mother,” said Casey, “His father is tied up with business at Gringotts with an attorney. I'm Casey Sawyer, and this is my son, Ryan, and his friend, Aaron.”

“Ah, well, good at least one of you is at his side during this particular moment. Now let's see...” 

Mr. O'Toole produced his wand, and flicked it at a tape, which suddenly came to life, and began measuring the rather tall boy from every conceivable angle.

“Mr. Black. Good to see you. You've been explaining a little bit about our world, I assume.”

“A little, enough to get him here. And of course, I will continue to do so. It was a little surprising, to say the least.”

“Yes, indeed. Rare coming into his magical gifts so late... you nearly died from that.”

Mr. O'Toole gestured to the nasty scar on Ryan's forearm. It wasn't a question.

“The thing about being a wizard, Mrs. Sawyer, is that magic does amazing things sometimes in defence of one. In this case, had your son not had magical blood, he would have died.”

“As Mr. Black has explained just a little while ago. Unusual things used to happen around him... until his accident,” said Casey.

“Ah. Accidental magic. It usually diminishes as the child grows into their magic, and learns to better control it. Outbursts can still happen, but they become much more rare as they get older.”

“But not entirely impossible during adulthood,” said Auror Jackson, “Though rare. I've attended more than a few incidents.”

“Yes, very rare. As an adult, we tend to have much better control of our gifts. As to your son, the electrocution would have likely severely damaged his core, to the point of non-existence. Can either of you tell me just how much current was involved?”

“Phil said it was around five hundred volts direct current. I don't remember the amperage, it's not my area of expertise, Phil's the mechanic, not me.”

“Deadly kind of current, then. Now. Let's see... I assume, Mr. Sawyer, you work with your left hand, given your injury?”

“Yes sir.”

“When is your birthday?”

“October thirty-first, sir.”

“Ah! A belated happy birthday, then!”

Mr. O'Toole then summoned a dozen boxes from various points around the room. Each had labels on their side, and the one thing in common, was the length. No wand contained within was under fourteen inches in length. It was only right, considering how tall Ryan was.

“Each of these boxes contains a wand. Do not wave it or try to cast magic with it. Just open each box, and pick up the wand inside.”

“What will happen when I find one?”

“You'll know,” answered Rasalas, as Ryan opened the first box. The wand inside was of a dark wood.

“Fourteen and an eighth of an inch, reed with a unicorn hair core.”

To Ryan, the wand felt cold. Even Rasalas' wand felt better than this one, and he hadn't even touched it.

“Well? Pick it up.”

“No. It f-f-f-feels wrong,” said Ryan, putting the cover back on the box.

“Very good then. You know the difference. I trust Mr. Black has loaned you his wand?”

“Yes sir,” said Ryan, as he moved to the next box. 

The wand inside was identical to the last in colour. This one had long, thin lines etched along its length, much like fluting.

“Fourteen inches even, dragon heart string.”

This time, Ryan pulled the wand out of the box. It felt dead to him. There was no connection to it. At least with the previous one, there had been some sort of connection, albeit a negative one. He put it back in the box, and closed the lid.

“Sir, w-w-why would I be able to use Rasalas' w-w-wand?” questioned Ryan, as he opened the next box.

“His wand knew it was being loaned to a friend. It understood the intent behind a stranger using it. These wands haven't given their allegiance to anyone just yet.”

Ryan took the wand out of the box, and gripped it.

“Another dragon heart string core. Close, but not a perfect fit. Try the next one,” said Mr. O'Toole. 

Ryan replaced the wand back in its box, and opened the cover to the next.

The wand inside was slightly lighter than the others, with an intricate weave pattern at the base of it, just above the handle. Ryan was instantly drawn to it, and the instant flesh came in contact with it, he felt a tremendous surge of warm energy travel through him from head to toe. It somewhat reminded him of his accident at age six, but this—this was something wonderful. A smile touched his lips as he drew the wand fully from the box, and gripped it comfortably in his hand.

“Well! Third time's a charm, Mr. Sawyer. Fourteen and three quarters, reed, dragon heart string core, flexible.”

“What kind of wood is it?” Rasalas dared ask.

“It's reed wood. Some have found it difficult to work, but that's not always the case. Considering Mr. Sawyer's reaction, it is a perfect fit, so he shouldn't find much trouble just the same.”

“Cast a Lumos charm,” Rasalas suggested.

Ryan squeezed the wand, intoning, “ _Lumos_.”

A sturdy light was broadcast from its tip.

“Very good, very good,” said Mr. O'Toole.

“ _Nox_.” The light vanished.

“Excellent. How much do we owe you?” asked Rasalas.

“Eight galleons, twelve sickles and three knuts,” replied Mr. O'Toole.

“Gringotts card okay?”

“Perfectly,” Mr. O'Toole answered. Rasalas fished in his pouch for the right card, and passed it across the counter. He then produced his wand, with the intention of asking about a wand holster. Mr. O'Toole dropped the bank card.

“You're kidding me.”

“What... what's wrong?” Rasalas questioned, confused at the wand maker's astonished expression.

“Mr. Black... may I see your wand for a moment?”

“Err... of course.”

Rasalas passed over his new wand, and Mr. O'Toole began to cast a number of spells on it.

“L-l-looking for dark magic,” Ryan guessed.

“No! No, nothing like that. My God, Harry, where did you get this?”

“When Dumbledore visited the Sawyers the other night. He meant to attack me, and I disarmed him. I wasn't about to let him curse me.”

“You cleanly disarmed him of _this_ wand?”

“Yes... but... what's so special about it? I mean, it works far better than this one—“ Rasalas drew his holly wand, “—although I still like this one.”

“Well, this one _should_ work much better for you. What do you know about the _Deathly Hallows_?”

“The what?”

Auror Jackson, meanwhile, arched an eyebrow. “You believe this is one of the fabled  _Deathly Hallows_ ?”

“The _Elder Wand_ , also known as the _Wand of Destiny_ , the _Deathstick_ , the _Eldruhn Wand_ , and a few others... _this_ wand, Mr. Black. Whatever you do, do not tell others about it. You see, this wand has a history painted in blood.”

“It's the most powerful wand in the world,” said Auror Jackson, "It's claimed to be unbeatable in a duel."

“I won't go into the detail of it's history, but each of us as wand makers know of it. This is the first time I've came across it... You say Albus Dumbledore had this?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Black... you are truly a remarkable wizard, and a powerful one. There's no way a lesser man could have won this wand, let alone someone as young as you are,” said Jason, shaking his head. 

He handed the powerful wand back to its owner.

“Like I said, don't broadcast this sort of thing, or you won't just have to worry about you-know-who. This wand has a bloody history.”

He thought for a moment.

“If you want a little insight into the wand and the Deathly Hallows, look for a book _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. More specifically, the story in it called, _The tale of the Three Brothers_.”

“I'll loan him my copy. It was a favourite of mine when I was a child,” Auror Jackson admitted.

Brady had remained silent up to this point, but now let out a snort. “Dumbledore looked pretty easy to beat to me.”

“Yeah, considering you th-th-threw a beer bottle at his head.”

Mr. O'Toole gave a nod. “You caught him off guard. He likely didn't expect interference. Though... again, it surprises me you were able to get one over on him at all... the man has quite the reputation. He was responsible for the defeat of Grindelwald at the end of the second world war.”

“The previous Dark Lord in Britain,” Auror Jackson clarified.

“Y'mean, this shit's happened before,” Brady guessed.

“Does it not surprise you?”

“I s'pose not.”

* * *

It was well after lunch before they returned to the house. It was just in time, as a pair of witches appeared in the back yard, claiming to be from Floo Regulation. Auror Jackson requested credentials before allowing them into the house. They set to work on the fireplace, and it was late in the afternoon before they finished.

They had no sooner left after conducting tests to ensure it was working, when a group of goblin warders arrived, along with a single wizard. He was tall and thin, sharing a somewhat similar appearance to Ryan, including his ginger hair, though he had tied it back in a pony tail.

“Rasalas,” Sirius said, “You likely don't remember him, but this is Bill Weasley.”

“Ron's older brother,” said Rasalas, as they shook hands, “I sort of remember you, but... not clearly, and mostly through third party.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Bill, “Sirius had told us about your situation. Don't think for a moment that any of us support what Albus did to you. A few members of the Order had a few choice words to say about the matter, and we'll certainly have loads more to say about it when he returns to London.”

“Right. Nice to know there are still people on my side back in England. Moving along... uh... this is Ryan and his parents, Phil and Casey. His best friend, Aaron... and my new best friend, Brady. Guys. Bill Weasley.”

A round of handshakes ensued.

“So we'll get right to it. This is Arlen, one of the lead warders at Gringotts. He'll be leading the team with the warding scheme,” Bill explained, introducing a rather tall goblin.

“A pleasure.”

“Mr. Black,” said Arlen, with an incline of the head. He then turned to Casey and Phil. “Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, since you now have a connection to the floo network, we'll want to apply wards to it as well.”

“Do whatever you need to do. Mr. Black has spelled out just how dangerous certain elements of the magical world can be, and really, we don't want a repeat event,” said Phil. “One thing to remember, we do have a business, so nothing that will interfere with my... non-magical clients.”

“The wards will only interfere with Muggles if they're specifically instructed to,” said Bill.

“Time is money, shall we see to it?” Arlen prodded. There was no further argument, as the team set off, heading to the north end of the property.

“They will likely be a few hours,” said Sirius, “So the next thing we need to deal with, is making the rooms more comfortable. I won't be able to do a whole lot, but I should be—”

“Give us some privacy,” Rasalas guessed.

“Exactly.”

“Y'know I don' mind sharing, Ras.”

“You're famous,” Aaron said, “You deserve space right?”

Brady only shrugged. “Really. Sharin' close quarters with some cool friends, nah, don' bother me none.”

“Still. We'll make a few adjustments,” said Sirius.

“We're fine the way things are,” Aaron smirked.

Rasalas smirked right back. “Uh huh.”

“Boys...” Casey pursed her lips.

“I p-p-plead the fifth.”

“We don't have a fifth amendment here, Ryan.”

“Sssss-so?”

Aaron smirked, and gave his friend a swat, which was swiftly returned.

“Boys!”

Rasalas only rolled his eyes. The interaction was most definitely not lost here. They were definitely more than friends. It was very likely the extra bed in Ryan's room hadn't been slept in for some time.

He smirked, deciding to fan the flames a little. “Well... since they do just about everything else together, now Aaron can help him polish his wand.”

Ryan's face immediately flushed, while Aaron opened his mouth several times to say something, only to snap it shut, feeling his face also get rather warm. Sirius, meanwhile, was sent into a coughing fit, he was trying so hard not to laugh. Brady looked confused for a moment, and Rasalas started counting in his head, waiting to see how long it would take for the guy to catch on.

“Uh. Okay then,” he finally said, as it suddenly clicked. “Jus' keep your hands to yourselves an' we'll get along jus' fine.”

“No, I think they'll be too busy with their hands all over each other,” Rasalas again smirked.

“Rasalas Black!” Casey finally scolded him, at last finding her voice. “Good grief, boy.”

“No harm d-d-done, Ma,” Ryan grinned, “We didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“There was a rumour you didn't like gay guys,” said Aaron, gesturing to Brady.

“Whoever started that's full of shit,” Brady answered, scowling, “If you're gay, so what? Ain't nothin' 'ya can do about it, God made 'ya that way. Jus' bein' clear though, _I ain't_. I like my Daisy Dukes, thank you very much.”

“Err. Right, then,” Rasalas grinned.

Inside, though, Rasalas had to wonder. What was he? What side of the field did he play on? Did he have a special someone? Perhaps he would have to ask Sirius when he had a chance. Really though. There were more important matters presently than worrying about his love life, or the lack thereof.

Though... if he did have to admit, Brady did have a very nice frame... WHAT? He mentally gave his head a shake. Nope. No time for that.

* * *

The early morning hours of November 8 th had Rasalas awake with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The dream had been a little strange, finding him staring longingly at a black door at the end of a black-tiled corridor. Wait. He'd seen that door. The entrance to the Department of Mysteries, wasn't it?

“Ras?”

Rasalas looked to the other side of the room. Brady had woke up, and had turned on his side to face his roommate.

“What's wrong?”

“S-strange dream,” Rasalas answered, sitting up. He felt wide awake now, so no sense in bothering to try and get back to sleep. A glance at the clock told him it was after 6 am as it was. The sky was already starting to lighten in the east, heralding the approaching dawn.

“Can... I mean... I want to take you flying.”

Rasalas stood up, and threw on a tee shirt. He then collected his pouch, and reached into it, pulling out his Firebolt, that had been miniaturized for easy carrying. Producing his wand, he tapped it once, restoring the broom to original size.

“Now?”

Rasalas only smirked.

“Seems it was not that long ago that you came banging at my door at the crack of dawn wanting me to go for a ride with you. You've become a bad influence, Mr. Gibson.”

Brady grinned, as he pulled on a shirt.

“Yeah, all right, 'ya sold me.”

“I warn you, you'll likely not look at your bike the same way ever again. And dress warm. We can go pretty high.”

Minutes later, they stepped outside, and Brady grabbed the helmets from the side compartment of his bike. It just seemed practical to him, and so Rasalas went along with it. And perhaps it might be a good idea for keeping the head warm, too.

“Going for a ride?”

Rasalas looked up to see one of the Aurors approaching.

“Flying,” he answered.

“All right. We'll be in the air with you, but out of sight. And you do know about notice-me-not charms?”

“Yeah, I remember it.”

“What's it do?” Brady asked, as he did up his helmet.

“Prevents you from being seen. It's a must when flying in a non-magical area,” the Auror explained.

“Right, makes sense,” Brady realized. That also filled in more of why he'd not seen anything—

“Wait a 'sec. Uh... few years ago there was this thing in the paper 'bout a flying car.”

“An enchanted car. It was in London,” said the Auror, “Had the English ministry rather busy for a while.”

Brady thought for a moment, before smirking.

“So we could make my bike fly.”

“Well...”

“The ministry kind of frowns on doing that kind of thing, Mr. Gibson.”

Rasalas, meanwhile, finished securing his helmet.

“All right. Here.”

“I... what?” Brady was surprised, when Rasalas passed him the broom.

“Hold it at an angle, so the handle's pointing up, and straddle it like you would your bike.”

Brady was hesitant, but... Rasalas hadn't deliberately put him in harm's way, so what they hey... He did as instructed, and was momentarily surprised, feeling something like a seat rather than just a hard shaft.

“Cushioning charm,” said Rasalas, at the unasked question. “Now sit forward a bit so I can get on behind you.”

Brady adjusted his position, and Rasalas got on behind.

“All right. Now. Grip the handle... a little further up... good. Feet up, in the stirrups.”

Brady followed his instructions, and Rasalas then pulled his feet up, putting them on the outer edge of the stirrups... not exactly comfortable, but it would work.

“All right. So the controls are... I guess it's like telepathy. Really never thought of how it actually works. The broom somewhat knows what you want it to do.”

“Oh. Like...”

The next instant, they were gone like a shot.

“Woah...”

“Yeah, a little slower, please.”

“Why? Slow is for sissies.”

“I'd rather not plow a ditch, Brady. Bloody hell. Let me teach you how to fly it properly first!”

They rapidly slowed down, with the broom still barely off the ground.

“Get us some height... good.”

Rasalas produced his wand, and tapped himself on the head, casting a notice-me-not charm. He then repeated it with Brady and the broom. They were then about a hundred feet off the ground, making a steady track west over the field on the other side of Bennett Road.

“Right. So lean forward a bit, and tighten your grip a bit... good.” They picked up speed. “Now, bank left—not too much! Good.” They turned sharply, so they were then headed east.

“Bank right just a bit... no, not out over the lake.”

“Damn... this is like—”

“I think I've always loved flying,” said Rasalas, “When I first got here back at the beginning of October, me getting back on the broom it was like a surge of joy shooting through my entire body. As if it had been a long time since I'd last done it.”

“Well, you're right about earlier. I think I got myself a new girlfriend.”

“Sorry, you can't have her. Sirius got this for me. But I'll tell you what. You be really nice and maybe I'll buy you one for Christmas. Though I already owe Ryan one.”

“You celebrate Christmas?”

“I dunno,” Rasalas answered, “But... I really don't care where or whatever, just as long as I have my friends close. That's all that matters.”

“Yeah, agreed.”

“What will you do if your matter with the border isn't fixed?”

“No clue. An' yeah, I'm worried... jus' not that worried yet.”

“Kate's a pretty good solicitor, and she's a witch. So she should be able to figure out what's going on and get it straightened out. Though I will miss having you around.”

“Yeah, I know 'ya will.”

“Right. All right, it's all yours.”

They were gone like a shot, as Brady pushed aggressively on the handle. Rasalas redoubled his grip, as the broom nearly reached its limit. The wind was almost painful in their faces, they were going so fast. Perhaps Rasalas should have warned him of the top speed the broom was capable of. No, it wouldn't have mattered. It had been demonstrated on several occasions already, Brady was a speed demon, and that easily translated to him in control of a magical object capable of a hundred and fifty miles an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Dumbledore is forced into an unsavoury choice to avoid an actual criminal trial; Brady starts teaching Rasalas how to drive; further incidents involving Brady's records has the American magical government becoming involved; plans begin to take shape for the Christmas holidays; and Rasalas is having more strange dreams, one of which being far too real..._


	12. Ulterior Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore is forced into an unsavory choice to avoid an actual criminal trial; Brady starts teaching Rasalas how to drive; further incidents involving Brady's records has the American magical government becoming involved; plans begin to take shape for the Christmas holidays; and Rasalas is having more strange dreams, one of which being far too real...

112\. ULTERIOR MOTIVES  
November/December, 2005

> _“Everyone has an ulterior motive. Everyone wants something, and everyone is willing to do whatever they have to in order to get it. Regardless of who winds up hurt in the process.”_

_\- Kyra Dune_

_November 9_

Rasalas had held a mental debate as to whether it was still worth it to take the GATB or not. Given he was most definitely continuing with his magical education, there was a question of whether or not he'd be able to keep up with both. There was also a question of whether it was worth continuing to see the occupational therapist, given he now had someone who filled the parental role.

A discussion with Sirius had helped him to make up his mind. No, the GATB would be a waste of time, since he was a magical student first. So, that day, he informed Ashley he no longer needed her help. Expecting her to be disappointed that she was losing a client, he was surprised at her answer.

“Rasalas, I'm glad for you. I had wondered when you would decide to stop seeing me, all considering. You've got a lot of people around you who absolutely make my presence unnecessary.”

“Oh. Well, I mean... you've been a big help.”

“It's what I do. Just remember, that if you feel you need further support, I'm just a phone call away.”

* * *

_November 10_  


It had been a humiliating experience for Albus Dumbledore. Having been denied bail, he'd been forced to endure the confines of a ministry holding cell for an entire week, before being led into a room with three solicitors.

“Professor. This is what's on the table,” said the first, “You'll plead guilty to entering the country illegally. We'll drop the charges of assault on a wizard, and violating the statute of secrecy. You'll be permanently banned from entering Canada, but your reputation will only be slightly impacted.”

“Should you decline, we will most definitely bring this to trial, and before you protest, be aware that we have pensieve testimony from all the persons present during the events in question. Unlike you Brits, we admit pensieve testimony during trial, and we do question witnesses while they are under the influence of Veritaserum,” said the second.

“Professor, I urge you to accept the plea. It's the last thing the light side needs right now, to see your image be dragged down by such an incident.”

Dumbledore sat quietly for a few moments, weighing his options.

“You must understand, gentlemen, of the importance Mr. Potter—”

“That's _Mr. Black_ , professor,” the first solicitor corrected him, “Who, as it stands, has had his conviction of violating the statute of secrecy overturned by a magistrate here.”

“Well... that's wonderful news, I do agree. Yet—”

“Yet _nothing_ , sir,” said the solicitor assigned to his defence, “We need to focus on the matter in front of you. Take the deal, professor.”

“If I agree to such terms, that may impact my ability to dispense the power of my position with the I.C.W.”

“Perhaps you should have carefully weighed the consequences, before using your familiar to illegally enter the country, professor. Now make your decision,” said the second solicitor.

Dumbledore let out a sigh. This had gone nothing like he'd intended. It should have been just a simple matter of popping in, gripping the boy about the arm or shoulder, and popping back to London. No, instead, he'd been nearly beaned in the head by a beer bottle of all things, and stunned by the boy who shouldn't have had a wand in the first place! He needed some options, and being stuck in a foreign ministry's holding cell was not productive.

“Very well. I will agree to the terms.”

* * *

  
_DUMBLEDORE ENTERS PLEA BARGIN_   
_HEADMASTER PLEADS GUILTY TO_   
_ENTERING CANADA ILLEGALLY_   


_Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, plead guilty to the charge of entering Canada illegally, at the Canadian Ministry of Magic in Toronto yesterday, after being persuaded to settle for a plea bargain rather than facing a full criminal trial. The two additional charges, performing magic in front of Muggles, and assault on a wizard, were both withdrawn._

_Both the French and American ministries have spoke out against such deplorable actions, an indication that perhaps the headmaster of Hogwarts has truly lost touch with his priorities, instead presenting himself as a potential danger to the Wizarding world._

“ _The Minister has grown even more alarmed by the headmaster's recent actions abroad, and is still considering options at this point, and will be speaking to his advisers late today or more likely, on Monday,” said Junior Assistant to the minister, Percy Weasley._

_Several members of the Wizengamot, meanwhile, also condemned the headmaster's actions. “Such behaviour only continues to set a poor example for the hundreds of students who are supposed to be under his guidance, and I do believe it's time a change is made,” said Lucius Malfoy, who up until the end of the 2002 school year, sat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. “The headmaster or headmistress of our prestigious school should not be a convicted criminal—whether such charges originated here or abroad.”_

“ _The ministry will be requesting court documents with regard to the eccentric headmaster, to see if further charges might need to be laid here, since the Canadian ministry lacks the fortitude to see charges properly levelled and prosecuted. Criminal acts require justice, no matter who the perpetrator may be,” said another ministry insider, who wishes to remain unnamed..._

  
  


“They can r-r-really say that?” said Ryan, as Kate finished reading. It was the morning of November 11, and everyone was once again gathered in the dining room, as she delivered the news of the plea bargain.

“Unfortunately, yes,” answered Kate, “Though I hear the head of International Cooperation is fuming at the inflammatory comments.”

“No shit,” said Aaron, “They said our justice system didn't have any balls.”

That earned a glare from Casey, as she cleared the table.

“Will the ministry here be making any kind of statement?” asked Rasalas.

“I would count on it. Though I warn you, your name is likely going to come up in all this. Be ready for some attention on this side of the Atlantic.”

“Yeah, I sort of figured that much.”

“In honesty, I'm surprised they didn't mention you in the article, pup,” said Sirius.

“Being protected under our laws, we won't allow your name to be run through the mud, Rasalas. International paper or not, we can lodge complaints through the I.C.W., and make it rather difficult for them. It won't be wise for them to get into a pissing match with us, our ministry's been looking for an excuse to take a swipe at magical Britain.”

“I won't allow my godson to be a pawn, that was one of the points of him coming here,” said Sirius, firmly.

“And he won't be. Though his situation will likely be used as an example, we won't ever ask him to act as any sort of poster boy. That would be most certainly unfair,” said Kate.

She then reached into her portfolio, and pulled out two stacks of paper.

“Mr. Black, and Mr. Black, these are documents I need both of you to fill out and sign where indicated.”

She passed them to Sirius and Rasalas.

“Citizenship applications,” Rasalas realized.

“Th-th-three years,” said Ryan, “It takes three years.”

“Actually not,” Kate said, “The ministry will actually process these, and the chance of approval is pretty high. If approved, the documentation will be finalized in a few weeks, being then put on file with Citizenship and Immigration.”

Brady arched an eyebrow. “Just because someone's a wizard?”

“Yes, in most cases. It's quite something how many witches and wizards actually immigrate here from European countries. Anyone want to guess why that is?”

“Bigotry,” said Rasalas, simply.

Kate gave a sad nod. “Exactly. The stats are about the same in the U.S., and will continue to be so as long as the conditions exist across the Atlantic.”

Aaron let out a snort, but softened. “Well. It could be much worse. We could all be in the Republic of Equatorial Kuhndu.”

Rasalas looked at him funny. “Do I really want to know?”

Brady shook his head, but Kate only happily supplied the answer. “Unspeakable genocide. It was covered quite extensively in the news. It was back on inauguration day in the U.S., if I remember correctly(1).”

She let out a sigh. “Perhaps that's one thing that is a little different in the magical world; we've not directly attempted to exterminate hundreds of thousands of people—millions in the case of Nazi Germany during the war.”

“No, we only exterminate hundreds,” Sirius muttered, “It's no different. Without my parents and their fanaticism, or the Malfoys, or a seemingly unending list of pureblood supremacists, Britain could be just as great as the Wizarding communities here.”

“Right. Enough rubbish. Here.” Rasalas slid the completed form across the table. “I've got second year Charms to review.”

* * *

The next few weeks passed without any great fanfare, as things settled into a bit of a routine. Between Sirius and Kate, Rasalas was then receiving private schooling in his fifth year material, though it was for the most part a review of prior years, given the O.W.L. exams at the end of the year.

Then there were days when Phil would pull Rasalas into the commercial shop to lend a hand with something. That would end up wasting the afternoon, or more, depending on what it was they were working on. And on most occasions, Brady would quickly follow. It was quite clear from the onset, that the guy knew his way around a shop.

Rasalas also began receiving driving lessons. Most of the time it was with Brady, since Ryan had school most of the time. On odd occasions, he was able, typically on the weekend. Though when that happened, Ryan proved to be more of a distraction than anything—or more the case of Aaron being the distraction. And if Brady decided to come along... Rasalas had started hexing people when the distractions became too much, which then resulted in him getting grief from the Aurors providing protective detail.

Weekends were typically spent with Rasalas teaching Ryan first year material. Kate had suggested Ryan finish his school year by correspondence, and sit in on the lessons Rasalas was getting, but Ryan refused. He would finish grade twelve, then he could focus full-time on magical knowledge.

The weekends, then, were for the most part spent on first-year magic, with a few exceptions. Rasalas insisted that Ryan know how to properly cast a shield charm, how to cast the disarming spell, and just as important, how to cast a stunner. They weren't first-year spells, but Rasalas felt it imperative that Ryan know how to protect himself.

* * *

_November 25_  


“Rasalas... uh... could 'ya call your lawyer for me?”

Brady stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a scowl on his face. Rasalas put a bookmark in the second-year Charms text book, and closed it.

“What happened?”

“Guys back at the house say this letter came from the I.R.S., so I got them to open it. They're threatenin' to start seizein' property, claimin' I owe years of back taxes. It's _bullshit_ , I don't owe nothin'.”

“Right. I'll get Kate to come over,” Rasalas said, reaching for the cordless telephone. He punched in the number.

“ _Norman, Lewis, and Graham, may I help you?_ ”

“Kate Lewis, please.”

“ _I'm sorry, she's in court, likely until lunch time. May I take a message?_ ”

“Tell her it's Rasalas Black, that she get in touch with me as soon as humanly possibly.”

“ _Oh. I can have a clerk—_ ”

“It's not an emergency. I mean, it's not that urgent that she needs to be pulled out of court.”

“ _It'll likely be this afternoon._ ”

“All right. Call... or if it's possible, I do need to see her in person. I'm at the Sawyers.”

“ _I'll make sure she knows._ ” There was a click.

“It'll be after lunch,” said Rasalas, setting the phone back down, “She's in court for the morning.” He glanced at his friend. “I'd say let's go out on the broom, but... even warming charms don't really protect against the chill now.”

“Yeah 'n the bike's out, same reason. Wouldn't be if we was home.”

“Let's borrow Mr. Sawyer's truck and go for a drive.”

It was well after lunch before they returned, and they found Kate waiting for them, with Casey keeping her company, a pot of tea set out on the kitchen table.

“Clearly, it wasn't that urgent a matter,” said Kate, pursing her lips.

“I asked him to call 'ya,” said Brady, shedding his jacket and putting it on the back of one of the chairs. “I.R.S. sent me some letter, sayin' I owe back taxes.”

“And you don't,” Kate guessed.

Brady let out a snort and scowled. “Don't know what it's like here, but back in Georgia, 'ya pay or else.”

Kate hummed. “I'll need your permission to access your records. And I mean  _everything_ , Mr. Gibson. If you've faced charges, if you've been taken to court, if you've been involved in any sort of litigation. You have your own solicitor back in the U.S.?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I'll need to speak with them. If it's what I think it is, your present solicitor will be in no position to help you. I'll also need to speak with your commercial solicitor—that is, the firm who represents you as a musician. And I'll likely need to speak with the solicitor for your record label.”

“What d'you think it is?”

“Mr. Gibson, I believe you may have a magical stalker.”

“Seriously?”

“Being magical is only a part of who someone is,” said Kate, “Not all. We're as human as you are, we're ruled be the same emotions, have the same flaws, and yes, commit similar crimes.

“Unfortunately, someone who is magical can cause far greater problems, using their craft to commit their crimes. It's one of the reason that crimes committed by a wizard against non-magicals are prosecuted more severely.”

“You're talkin' unfair advantage.”

“You could put it that way. We have a gift, being magical. With it comes responsibility. A responsibility to ourselves, and a responsibility to those who _don't_ have our gifts.”

“What will it mean for Brady?” Casey questioned.

“We'll push the American Department of Magic to provide protection at his residence, and the residence of immediate family. We'll also press them to open an investigation, and hopefully get his records corrected.”

“'an I can go home?”

“Hopefully, yes. With the ministry—or the Department of Magic in your case, being involved... things will get sorted out pretty quickly.”

* * *

it took less than a week for the American Department of Magic to set Brady's records back to rights. Opening an investigation on November 26 th , they very quickly discovered the tampering was magical in nature. The computer records were more difficult to fix, but a hidden flag was added so that any changes would raise a flag with the American DMLE.

Realizing the threat was indeed magical in nature, the Department provided a protection detail, both at Brady's residence, and that of his immediate family, beginning on November 27.

“So I can go home now,” said Brady, after Kate finished her update on the afternoon of December 1.

“If you really want to, then yes,” Kate answered, “However, I would suggest you don't. Wait until the ministry actually catches the person or persons responsible. Being here, you're protected by rather formidable wards, while returning home, you won't be.”

“Can't 'ya put wards on my house?”

“No,” Kate answered, sadly, “Magical laws forbid the erection of any sort of ward on a strictly non-magical residence.”

“I could go stay with him,” Rasalas suggested.

Kate shook her head. “No. You'd be considered just a magical visitor, rather than a permanent resident.”

Brady let out a huff. “May's well move my ass here then, seems like I ain't goin' anywhere else.”

“Just trust us, Mr. Gibson, we'll get this all sorted out one way or another. As it stands, the Americans are investigating a rash of similar cases. There may be a connection.”

“Wonder if it's Death Eaters.”

Kate shook her head. “You know that's unlikely, Rasalas. They wouldn't go after just a few people. And really. Death Eaters here in Canada—or the U.S. for that matter? They'd get a very frosty welcome.”

She softened.

“Now. I'm sure you're probably wanting to at least spend a night or so back under your own roof, and that much we can arrange. The American Department of Magic has given permission for us to make port keys for you.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. You'll probably want to spend the weekend, and while that's fine, I wouldn't suggest staying longer. If your stalker realizes you're home...”

“But you got Aurors watching the place...”

“Who can't be everywhere. Just trust us. It's safer if you come back here.”

Brady let out a huff. As much as he hated it, he knew Kate was right. Last thing he wanted, was for the person causing the problems showing up at his mother's place—or his brother's. If he really thought about it, it was no different than when he was out on tour. Getting home had been a rarity during the spring and summer.

* * *

Brady was gone until Monday. Though he'd invited Rasalas to join him, Rasalas had declined, deciding it best if Brady reunite with his family alone. There would likely be plenty of opportunity once the crazy stalker business had been sorted out and the fool responsible introduced to a Dementor—well, one could only hope. Unlikely, of course. The fool would spend a few years in Azkaban, but no, the crime wouldn't warrant the Kiss.

The three nights he was away proved to be challenging for Rasalas, with sleep being a fleeting thing. All three nights, he'd awoken, having experienced the same strange dream: the black corridor with the door that led into the Department of Mysteries, and feeling the powerful desire to reach out and open it. Far worse, it felt like... the emotion he was feeling was not his... as though he were experiencing another person's perspective. It was most unsettling.

Then there came the strange incident on Sunday. While teaching Ryan first-year Transfiguration, he'd had a surge of anger that came out of left field, and had to leave the house rather than lash out at someone. If he thought the strange dreams were weird... this... this was unnatural.

For the time being, he kept the strange experiences to himself, though he realized that, if it worsened, he would need to speak to someone. Last thing he needed was to end up somehow possessed by someone—was that even possible? Most definitely, if it persisted, he would speak to Bill Weasley at a minimum. He was an expert on curses, so he would likely have insight on the matter.

Monday couldn't arrive any sooner, but it was nearly dinner time before a pair of Aurors brought Brady back to the Sawyers. The strong wave of relief Rasalas felt was more than evident, as Brady stepped into the dining room. The pair of Aurors gave a simple nod toward Rasalas, before leaving the house to return to their patrol.

“Missed me, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Rasalas answered, “But... well... uh, how was your weekend?”

“It was all good, yeah. Spent lots 'a time with mom... went to church yesterday... few things I'm missin' here, y'know, shit like that.”

“Oh. Well, good. I missed your... your presence, I guess,” said Rasalas, “But... it's selfish of me to expect you to be here, right? I'm glad you were able to get home.”

“Next time I go home, you're comin' with. Mom wants to meet 'ya.”

Casey stepped into the dining room.

“Mr. Gibson, good to see you back.” She glanced at the table. “I'm going to need the table soon, dinner's nearly ready.”

“Oh. Err... apologies,” said Rasalas, with a sheepish grin.

“What're 'ya doin' anyway?” Brady questioned.

“Making plans for my house. The deed to the property came through today, so now I can start planning things out. And everyone's been giving me suggestions,” Rasalas explained, as he began picking up the number of papers and parchments that were scattered across the table.

“I might have a few suggestions.”

Rasalas grinned. “I'm sure you do.”

* * *

_December 16_  


With Christmas getting ever closer, it became more and more difficult to focus on the review. Considering, according to Sirius, the holidays for Hogwarts students began that day, Rasalas decided to follow suit, considering up to the end of the previous school year, he was a student there.

After lunch, then, Rasalas had once again borrowed the Sawyers' truck, and coaxed Brady to go for a ride with him. Though really, there wasn't a lot of coaxing involved. It hadn't taken all that long for Rasalas to get a good handle on driving, and so these days, going for a drive at this point usually meant being gone for hours.

Mid-afternoon found them almost flying down one of the many back roads in the area, kicking up the fine dusting of snow that had fallen overnight. Brady had one of his notebooks open on his lap, and was scribbling out notes and phrases, sometimes saying or singing bits aloud. It was nothing new to Rasalas by this point, seeing Brady working on new material. He had to wonder how much his current experiences were influencing what he wrote.

A broom and its rider abruptly materialized a short distance ahead of them, and the rider pointed a finger to the side of the road. Rasalas knew Aurors always followed them when they left the residence—always invisible, but always there. So, what was the problem? He applied the brakes, and pulled over.

Brady looked up from his notebook. “What's wrong?”

“Aurors asked us to stop.”

Already, the broom and its rider had come alongside the vehicle. Rasalas rolled down the window and momentarily shivered at the blast of chilly air that invaded the cab. It was Auror Jackson.

“You need to go back to the house right away. We're going into lockdown.”

“What happened?”

“We'll explain shortly. Just get back to the house right away.”

Rasalas frowned. “All right.”

He rolled the window back up, muttering under his breath. The one problem with being in a non-magical machine, is that they couldn't just leave it in the middle of nowhere. It was likely to get towed away, or vandalized. Rasalas turned the vehicle around, and they sped off.

Arriving back at the house sometime later, they found the protection detail had been doubled at a minimum. As soon as they parked the truck, Auror Jackson hurried over.

“C'mon, let's get inside. We're raising the ward protection strength to lethal.”

Rasalas arched an eyebrow. “Lethal? What happened?”

“Death Eaters arrived by illegal port key near Gander, Newfoundland. Three have been captured, while five more remain at large. An illegal port key was also detected near Athens, Georgia. Aurors arrived too late to determine who it was, but given the the other port key brought Death Eaters, it's a save bet the port key in Georgia did too.”

A panicked look briefly crossed Brady's face. “My mom...”

“Auror protection's been doubled at both your property and your mother's. Should things escalate, both your mother and your brother will be removed to a secure location.”

Brady seemed to relax, but gave a grim nod. “Do they tell Homeland Security 'bout this shit?”

“Depends. If the Department of Magic believes the matter might also threaten non-magical interests, then yes. But the problem with drawing non-magical authorities into it, is that they would inconvenience people without being able to explain why. And considering it's so close to Christmas, the authorities need a really good reason.”

“So an unknown number of Death Eaters are now at large in the U.S. and Canada,” Rasalas summarized.

“Yeah, that's about it. Floo regulation both here and in the U.S. are monitoring the floo network, and we're watching for unusual port key traffic. And needless to say, Mr. Gibson, we can't permit you to travel home until this is cleared up.”

Brady made a sour face as they stepped into the house. “Yeah, kinda figured that much.”

“Rasalas. Thank Merlin,” Sirius practically whispered, enveloping Rasalas in a tight hug.

“Sirius, I'm fine.”

“All right. So for the next while, we'd like it if you stick close to the residence,” said Auror Jackson.

“I'm going to make an even better suggestion,” said Sirius, “One of the properties we own is a private island in the Caribbean sea. You probably don't remember, Rasalas, but last year I sent correspondence with a rather colourful bird, rather than through an owl.”

“You own a private island,” Brady deadpanned.

“Rather than be under virtual house-arrest here, I'm inviting all of you to spend the holiday in a warm place that will also be under the protection of rather formidable wards, equal to those erected here.”

“What sort of access list does it have?”

“Come on, Auror Jackson, our family is a secretive, suspicious lot. What do you think would be involved?”

Auror Jackson gave a stiff nod. The Black family had a reputation, even on this side of the Atlantic. It was a safe bet blood wards were involved, if not the Fidelius charm. If Black had wintered there the previous year, without Magical Law-enforcement in the area being aware... they would be more than safe. Still...

“Our ministry will want at least a few of us to go with you.”

“And such protection is welcome,” said Sirius.

“When will we be going?” Rasalas questioned.

“Likely Sunday. I'll need a bit of time to make sure we have what we'll need, likely I'll need to summon Kreacher and have him tidy the place up.”

“Kreacher?”

“A house elf. You've met him before, but likely don't remember. And it's probably best you don't. He's never liked me all that much, and really, doesn't like people in general all that much. I'll try and make sure he's not there when we arrive.”

“Could... what... how hard would it be if Brady's family were invited?” Rasalas asked, “I mean... it's our world that's messing up his Christmas. And really, it's not fair that I get to be with family and he doesn't.” It all came out in a rush, afraid Sirius would cut him off and say 'no' before hearing reason.

Sirius only gave a nod.

“If Mr. Gibson would like that, I think we can accommodate a few more people.”

“How magical is your island, Mr. Black?”

“Enough that Mr. Gibson's family will need to know. I think they should be aware as it is, given the seriousness of what's going on,” Sirius answered, “With Death Eaters showing up on this side of the Atlantic, specifically in an area close to where he lives, that can't be a coincidence.”

“The government won't like it, but I do have to agree,” said Auror Jackson.

At dinner, Sirius repeated his plan for the holiday. Phil and Casey easily accepted the invitation, while Ryan was excited.

“Spending Yule somewhere w-w-w-warm... that's gonna be awesome!”

“What's the water like?” Aaron asked.

“Pretty warm,” Sirius answered, “So yes, bring something to swim in.”

Though Ryan made no comment, Casey pursed her lips.

“Mr. Watson, your parents will be all right with you coming along?”

“Yeah, it'll be fine. My parents... they're indifferent toward me, I guess that's the best way to put it. I mean, I've been home three or four days since the start of school. So me going with Ryan, they really won't care.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, hearing this. What sort of bizarre home life did he have, then?

Almost sensing the question, Aaron said, “My mom and dad are too busy with their careers than worrying about me. I dunno if you heard the expression, 'latchkey kid', but... I'd be home alone after school until six or seven at night back in grade school.

“Y'know, it's like... sometimes, I felt like I was an afterthought... or worse. I was raised by my friends' parents more than my own. And when I met Ryan a couple of years ago... I feel like this is my real family.”

“Much like Bill's family stood in for my godson's family on a number of occasions,” said Sirius.

“Though I only know of them third-hand, I'd like to send them something,” said Rasalas, “And their youngest boy... he's supposed to be my best friend... how do I tell him I don't remember him?”

“You be straight up with him,” said Aaron, “If he's really your friend, he'll understand, right?”

“If he doesn't... he's n-n-not much of a friend.”

Rasalas gave a slow nod. “I guess it's one of the things that's really stopped me from writing to him.”

* * *

_Late hours, December 17_  


He hadn't meant to fall asleep. The day had been spent preparing for the trip to Black Island, with the Sawyers deciding what they would need while they were there. Of course it was also made clear that, if they needed to, they could easily be brought back to the house. After all, Wizarding travel was rather convenient.

Rasalas, too, had been busy, helping to pack a number of things, and taking the opportunity to show Ryan a few more spells that were related. So it was, he had lay down, content to listen to Brady as he was once again working on new material. There was something about his voice that Rasalas found enthralling, for lack of a better word. There was little doubt, Brady could probably get Rasalas to do anything.

_Rasalas found himself aloft on his broom, chasing a golden ball that had wings. Faster and faster he went, with the little spherical object keeping just out of his reach, the wind roaring in his ears as he tried to keep pace... a steep dive and..._

_The dream changed..._

_His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone... he was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly... it was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colours... he was turning his head... at first glance the corridor was empty... but no... a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark..._

_Rasalas put out his tongue... he tasted the man's scent on the air... he was alive but drowsy... sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor..._

_Rasalas longed to bite the man... but he must master the impulse... he had more important work to do..._

_But the man was stirring... a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Rasalas saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt... he had no choice... he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood..._

_The man was yelling in pain... then he fell silent... he slumped backwards against the wall... blood was splattering onto the floor...(2)_

“Rasalas!?”

Someone was shaking him roughly.

Rasalas sat up abruptly, his heart pounding with such force it threatened to burst from his chest, and pain in his scar such that it was as if a firebrand were being jabbed into it.

“Rasalas...”

Rasalas focused on the speaker. It was Brady, who looked alarmed. 'Get a grip, Black!' he shouted in his mind. No sense in talking gibberish. Need Sirius. Now.

“I... attack... someone... I just seen someone... SIRIUS!!”

A loud thump came from one of the rooms, heavy footsteps came in the corridor, and the door flew open, revealing his startled godfather, wand in hand.

“Sirius! I... I dunno... someone was attacked... ministry I think... snake... who... black door...Mr. Weasley...”

“Woah, kiddo, slow down,” said Sirius, stowing his wand. “Mr. Gibson, go get him some water.”

Brady got up and left the room, and Sirius sat down beside Rasalas.

“Slowly. What happened?”

“I... Mr. Weasley... he was bitten. A lot of blood!” Rasalas answered, still panicked.

Sirius furrowed his brows. “Are you sure it wasn't just a dream?”

“NO! I mean, YES! It... it wasn't just a dream! I was there, I saw it... I... I _did_ it!”

“You were sleepin', Ras,” said Brady, as he stepped back into the room bringing a glass of water. Rasalas took it, and drank greedily. His scar was still practically burning, but his heart wasn't racing quite as much.

“No, believe me... I... I was there.... somehow, I was there! I...”

A strong bout of vertigo was all the warning he got, before he retched, heaving the contents of his stomach on the floor. Brady had to leap out of the way to avoid having his boots covered in the mess.

Brady snatched up the box of tissues on a nearby dresser and tossed it over, while Sirius drew his wand and vanished the mess.

“Th-thank you,” Rasalas whispered, and wiped his face with one of the tissues.

“Now you're sure it was Mr. Weasley?”

“Yeah... p-positive. Brady... cabinet... stomach-calming draught, please.”

Brady opened the small cabinet over Rasalas' dresser, and pulled out one of the numerous vials that were stocked, and passed it over. Rasalas downed it in one go, forcing down the urge to vomit again. He wiped his mouth.

“It was a huge snake. Mr. Weasley... he was bleeding terribly. The snake bit him... three times.”

Sirius again furrowed his brows, but gave a nod. “I'll warn the Order at once. Arthur was part of the detail put in place by the Order to keep an eye on something in the Ministry. I'll be a few minutes. You lay back down... and Mr. Gibson, get him a calming draught.”

Rasalas watched Sirius leave. How had it... why...

“You really seen someone attacked in your sleep?” Brady asked, quietly. He pulled a chair over from his side of the room, and sat down.

“Yeah. I... I'm scared, Brady. This... this isn't normal. Not even for a wizard!”

“No shit.”

Though the door was open, Ryan knocked before he and Aaron stepped into the room.

“What happened?”

“Mr. Weasley... I just saw him attacked... I dunno how to explain it... except that... it was like I was the snake... this enormous snake. And this is near-killing me,” said Rasalas, pointing to the scar on his forehead. Only now did the others get a good look at it. It looked almost fresh, raw and red.

“You're sayin' you were the snake,” said Brady. He frowned at the thought.

“Yes! It was like... I experienced the attack from the snake's perspective.”

“That can't be a good thing.”

“Yeah, no shit,” said Aaron, “Dude... you need to talk to someone. A doctor.”

Rasalas looked furious. “I'm not loopy!”

“I'm not saying you are, but... God... being able to see shit from someone else's view point... never mind a snake's... that's beyond weird.”

Rasalas blew out a breath. Aaron was absolutely right. The strange dream of the corridor... experiencing emotions that weren't his own... and now this. He needed to speak with a healer. Last thing he needed was to become a danger, somehow being possessed by someone. Far worse, he had a growing suspicion of the source of the problem.

Sirius returned a few minutes later.

“You were right, but he was found in the nick of time. They've taken him to St. Mungo's Hospital in London. Dumbledore's sent the rest of the family to my place, but if you don't mind being surrounded by a few more guests, I would like to move them to the island for the holiday.”

“Yeah, of course.” Rasalas felt... numb inside. Sure, they'd gotten to him, but... it was surreal. Why was he seeing such things? “I... this isn't the first time I've experienced something... weird.”

“How do you mean?”

“That black door... I've been dreaming about it,” Rasalas explained. “It's been getting more and more frequent until tonight. And... there was a time I felt this sudden surge of anger, for no reason. The emotion I felt... it wasn't mine.”

“Seriously. Dude. You need to see a doctor—” Aaron began.

“Agreed,” said Sirius, “Though in our world, it's a mind-healer. He or she will be able to make better sense of what might be going on. And I'm going to have a word with Dumbledore. We do still play for the same team, Rasalas.”

Rasalas huffed. “Yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it though.”

“Don't worry, kiddo. We'll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Everyone travels to the Blacks' island in the Caribbean, where they are joined by Hermione, the Weasleys, and Brady's immediate family; and Brady's brother reacts badly to Kreacher's behaviour, resulting in Rasalas setting a few matters straight with the elf..._   
>  _CHAPTER NOTES: It's only natural that since we are dealing with what would have been Harry's fifth year, that a number of events from “Order of the Phoenix” take place as in canon. I had debated about having Mr. Weasley actually end up dying from the attack, given Harry's not at the school. However, since they do have a floo connection, and with Sirius being present, it wouldn't make that much difference in the end._   
>  _(1) “The West Wing”, season 4, episodes 14 – 17. A reminder that the time line for the show has been adjusted to replace the Bush administration completely, so here it's late in the first year of Bartlet's second term in office._   
>  _(2) Taken from Pg. 408 – 409, “Order of the Phoenix”, Canadian soft-cover edition. Mostly verbatim._


	13. Bittersweet Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Everyone travels to the Blacks' island in the Caribbean, where they are joined by Hermione, the Weasleys, and Brady's immediate family; and Brady's brother reacts badly to Kreacher's behaviour, resulting in Rasalas setting a few matters straight with the elf..._

113\. BITTERSWEET REUNION  
December, 2005

> _“Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing.”_

  
_\- Jennifer Armentrout_   


_December 18_

Just before sunrise, Sirius fashioned a port key that carried them to a small, uncharted island a little west of Navassa Island in the Caribbean. Phil had left the shop in the care of the senior supervisor, though it was only for a few days, as the entire staff would be on holiday come Tuesday afternoon, with the business not opening again until the second week of January.

The port key dropped them on an expanse of beach that faced east. Rasalas had still not mastered the art of port key travel, and scowled at his friend, who'd remained on his feet this time. Brady only grinned as he offered a hand.

“I got good balance,” he said, at the unanswered question.

Ryan and Aaron, meanwhile, were helping Phil and Casey back to their feet.

“Goodness,” said Casey, as she looked around, “This is beautiful.”

“It's been in the family for a couple of centuries. The story goes, that we won the property in a high-stakes card game,” said Sirius. “Last member of the family to use it before me was my grandfather. My parents were more content to remain in that dungeon we own back in London.”

Ryan arched an eyebrow. “Dungeon?”

“It's a fitting description,” said Sirius, “Kreacher has no interest in its upkeep... driven mad with my dear old mother's rubbish. All right. Follow me and I'll show you to the manor.”

He wasn't kidding. To Brady, it could have easily been uprooted from a plantation in Georgia or the Carolinas. The two-storey house was white with a hip-roof covered slate-grey shingles. It had large windows, and a verandah that stretched along its length, supported with large round columns. There appeared to be at least four chimneys, at least one at each end.

The house was set back a fair way from the beach, a few minutes' walk, if he had to guess. The lawn was lush and green, with a copse of hardwood and tropical trees directly to the south. If he was unsure of the depth of the Blacks' financial clout, this removed all doubt.

The inside easily matched the outside as far as decor went. The foyer was two storeys high, with a sweeping staircase leading to the upper floor. A fireplace was set along the back wall, with a fire blazing in the grate.

“The fireplace is connected to the floo network, but as it stands there's a blanket exclusion, and it's been that way for some time. My family's a suspicious lot, and we've had many enemies. Come into the dining room.”

The dining room featured a table that could sit twenty people. Sirius waited for everyone to get comfortable.

“The property wards extend ten miles out to sea in all directions. That's really only something you need to keep in mind if you're flying,” Sirius began. “There are twelve bedrooms, and you'll find they're more than spacious considering what you might be used to up to this point. Be careful of using anything electric or electronic, the ambient magic here may interfere with it. I think you may be all right on the beach, but in the house it may be risky.”

“Crap. My laptop's out of the question then,” said Aaron.

“So there's no electricity here then,” Phil guessed.

“No. The house was built maybe two centuries ago, and given my family's opinion toward Muggle technology...”

“Running water?” Casey asked.

“Yes, we do have that,” Sirius answered, “Both hot and cold if you're wondering. The plumbing is purely magical.”

“What about lights?” Brady asked.

“Gas lamps, though that's also magical.”

“It's a beautiful home, Mr. Black,” said Casey, “Though I'm surprised you don't spend more time here. If this were mine, I would have a difficult time returning to Ontario.”

“Mrs. Sawyer, you and your family are most certainly welcome to make yourselves at home here.”

“How strong are the wards here?” questioned Auror Jackson.

“Blood-based. No port keys in or out, unless they've been made by either myself or Rasalas—once he learns how. No apparition, except for myself, or, Rasalas, once he learns how. Intent-based detection that will mete out retaliation equal to the threat.”

“So someone comes in here wantin' to kill, they'll die,” Brady guessed.

Sirius nodded grimly. “Exactly. And before you ask, yes, if someone comes onto the property and causes trouble here, we have the right to do whatever we want with them without fear of prosecution. For reference, we're governed by Haitian magical law here. They tend to take personal security rather seriously, as in, 'attack someone or their property at your peril.'

“Thing being, we won't be letting people in if there's even a hint they may cause a problem. The whole point of coming here is to escape from the threats we're facing back in Ontario.”

Sirius reached into his jacket pocket, and produced a pair tennis balls.

“Auror Jackson, these are port keys that will take you back to the Sawyer residence, and a return port key here. I expect you'll want to bring extra protection detail.”

“Yes. And I will need to update my department head on what's happening. Where is 'here' exactly?”

“For now, I'd rather keep that bit quiet. We're somewhere in the Caribbean, for reference,” Sirius answered.

“All right. The department head's not going to like the answer, but you do have the right to privacy and security. I'll return in an hour or two. Uh... the activation phrases?”

“The first one is eight-seven-six, the return is one-two-three.”

Auror Jackson furrowed his brow, but activated the port key, and vanished.

“Not all that original, Padfoot,” Rasalas snickered.

Sirius shrugged. “Not a priority to be clever. All right. Let's get everyone settled, and you lot can then help decorate for Christmas.”

* * *

It was December 20 before Brady's mother and brother were brought to the island. Brady travelled back to Georgia with Sirius and Auror Jackson, so they could explain what was truly going on. Sirius was smart to take along a few calming draughts, which were most certainly required. Brady's brother took the news better than their mother did, and it took the pair of them to get her calmed down enough to take the offered calming draught.

When they arrived by port key at the house, Brady made the introductions quickly, with the distraction helping to further settle his mother down.

“Uh... this here's my brother Corey, 'an my mom, Betty.”

It spawned a round of handshakes, as everyone introduced themselves. Corey was easily a head taller than his brother, but if Rasalas had to guess, he was a few years younger. He shared many of Brady's features, other than his face being a little more broad. He was also a little stockier, and it was all muscle.

Casey, meanwhile, could immediately tell that Betty was struggling with what was going on.

“Mrs. Gibson, why don't you come with me, and we'll fix some tea,” she coaxed. Betty still looked bewildered, but followed Ryan's mother into the manor, with Phil following close behind.

“So, uh... this magic shit... it's all for real,” Corey questioned. “I mean, uh... my brother's been known to pull shit, y'know, 'an all that.”

Rasalas resisted the urge to grin. Corey sounded almost identical to his brother.

“How did you arrive here?” Rasalas challenged.

“It was weird, know that much.”

Rasalas produced his wand, and smirked.

“ _Rictumsempra_ ,” he whispered, flicking his wand at Ryan. It was instant, as the ginger-haired boy collapsed to the lawn, feeling his body crawling with... something. God, oh God it tickled something fierce, he was crying he was laughing so hard.

Rasalas only kept the jinx on him a few seconds, before releasing it.

“Y'know.... p-p-payback's a b-b-b-bitch,” Ryan wheezed, as Aaron helped him back to his feet.

“I could vanish your clothes.”

“No, dude. It'll scare the newcomers,” Aaron smirked.

Corey, meanwhile, still looked doubtful.

“Jus' trust 'im,” said Brady, “This shit's for real.”

“And as we have already explained, your brother has gotten the attention of a very dark wizard and his followers. Since you and your mother are his immediate family, it's only right you're offered the same sort of protection,” said Sirius, “Even if it means you learning about our world.”

“It likely would've happened anyway,” said Rasalas, “Since Brady and I have become close friends.”

Auror Jackson frowned. “You know what the ministry thinks of that, Mr. Black.”

“How long you known 'bout this?” Corey asked his brother.

“After my concert at the Sawyers' place. Ras, summon Fawkes.”

“Oh. Good thinking. Fawkes,” he called out, to no one in particular.

There came a brilliant flash of golden flames a short distance away, and the crimson-coloured bird flamed into view, to then light on Rasalas' shoulder.

“Damn,” said Corey, impressed, “What... what kind of bird is that?”

“A phoenix,” said Sirius, “He used to belong to someone else, and I strongly suspect he took exception to being used to break the law. He's been with Rasalas since.”

“Right. Since things are well, I'm returning to my patrol,” said Auror Jackson. He headed off toward the northern end of the island.

“So those guys watchin' the house... they're magical cops,” said Corey.

“Aurors, yeah,” answered Rasalas.

“Thought they was from the Marshalls' office, by the way they's dressed. Had me wonderin' what Brady's got himself into, y'know.”

“The worst sort,” said Sirius, “They threaten both our world and yours alike. Voldemort would exterminate the Muggle world in its entirety if he could.”

“With six billion of us? Good luck with that,” Corey muttered. He was still fixated on Fawkes, perched on Rasalas' shoulder. “How dangerous?”

“Well... the dark wizard in question gave me this,” said Rasalas, reaching up and pointing to the distinctive scar on his forehead.

“How long ago? Still looks fresh.”

“When I was still a baby.”

“That ain't right.”

“Thing is, Mr. Gibson, the dark wizard, Voldemort... saw my godson as a threat. Which is why I'm now his guardian. His parents were murdered the night he received that scar. The point being made here, is that Voldemort will do truly unspeakable things—he's _done_ truly unspeakable things, to both witches and wizards, never mind Muggles. This is a man who equates to the boogey man of Muggle legend, except that he is very real.”

“You guys need to make sure your mom knows about this,” said Aaron, “I'm not magical either, and I know this is probably scaring the shit out of 'ya, and quite honestly it scares me sometimes... but family needs to stick together.”

Corey gave a nod. “Yeah, well said. We'll take care of mom. Oh, uh, thanks for invitin' us to spend Christmas, really cool of ya'll.”

“Come on then. I'll show you to a room,” said Sirius.

* * *

Before sunrise the following morning, Ryan woke Rasalas up, asking if he wanted to join them for their ritual to welcome the winter solstice. Rasalas once again declined, still not comfortable with intruding on what was a private family gathering.

As it stood, Rasalas wasn't even sure of what he believed in. The Sawyers practised the old religion—though Rasalas still wasn't sure what that exactly meant. And the Weasleys, while they celebrated Christmas... he wasn't sure what they believed in either, come to think of it. The Gibsons, meanwhile, were most certainly Christian. Brady wanted him to attend church with him, but just like with the Sawyers, Rasalas had declined.

Just after lunch, Sirius fashioned a port key, and disappeared, returning to the ancestral townhouse in London. Mr. Weasley was well enough to be released from the hospital, and so the family could then be brought to the island. Unlike the townhouse back in London—or the Sawyers' place back in Ontario, for that matter, the manor had more than enough room for everyone, so no sharing was necessary (other than the case of Phil and Casey, for obvious reasons).

Of course, Rasalas definitely missed having a roommate. It was just weird, being completely alone. Sure, he'd had his own room up until Sirius had joined them, but over a month had passed since. He knew he needed to get used to it. Once the house was built, there would be more than enough room—never mind the fact that it was likely they would be staying on the island for the rest of the winter. The Sawyers would probably like to have their privacy back.

Rasalas realized that Brady was likely going to be around for the long-term—months, or years, more likely. There were still so many questions, so many unknowns surrounding the Dark Lord, and somehow, Rasalas knew it fell to his shoulders to eventually deal with him once and for all. Until that happened, his friends, old and new, would be in great danger.

A blur of limbs out on the lawn drew Rasalas out of his thoughts. The Weasleys had arrived with Sirius. He recognized all of them almost immediately, as he crossed the distance from the house to their arrival point. Mrs. Weasley was a short, plump woman with a kind face. She spotted Rasalas, and it was instant recognition.

“Harry, dear...”

“Rasalas,” he corrected her, but still let her seize him in a near-bone-crushing hug. She then held him at arms' length. He was taller, and looked somewhat as Sirius had when he was just out of Hogwarts... if Mrs. Weasley remembered correctly. He had no hair, but wore a flat cap that cast a shadow over his eyes. He was wearing a pair of Muggle trousers that were hacked off above the knees, and a tank top that had a strange pattern of black, grey, and white splotches all over it. He wore only a pair of sandals on his feet, and it was evident he'd spent a few days in the sun.

“Good grief, Sirius wasn't kidding about you going through a few changes.”

“It's true then? You don't remember us, 'cept what you've been told?”

Was that Fred, or George? The pair were identical in every way. They supported their father between them, who looked rather green after the port key trip—though his condition steadily improved with each passing second.

“I'm sorry, the lot of you... I don't. Only by pensieve memory do I even have a clue who you are. I know you guys have looked after me in the past, and if it wasn't said before, thanks. I feel bad that—”

“Harry—Rasalas, we understand, son,” said Mr. Weasley, “It seems I have you to thank for saving my life a few days ago.”

“It was, sir. As... startling as it was, I'm glad I was able to help.”

“Well, come on. Let's get Arthur inside and comfortable. There's been a room made up for you.”

“Harry, mate...”

“Ron. I... I guess I've known for a couple of months about... where's Hermione?”

“I'll be picking her up from her parents in an hour or so,” said Sirius, as they crossed the lawn.

“I know we were really close friends.”

“We saved Hermione from a troll back in first year.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Blimey, you really don't remember?”

“I wish I could, but I don't.”

“What happened to you? I mean, _why_ don't you remember?” Ginny, Rasalas remembered.

“I... someone attacked me one night back at the beginning of September. I nearly died... and I guess one of the consequences, is that my memory's been badly damaged. I remember bits and pieces now and then, but... I can't remember much of anything that happened to me prior to me waking up in the hospital.

“Worse, I have knowledge of things... like how to cast spells, but I don't remember how I know. Maybe it's like riding a bicycle or something.”

Rasalas gave a shrug.

“But people I know, stuff that's happened to me... I don't remember. Or what I do know, such as... about you guys... it's only because Sirius has shown me stuff in a pensieve, or I've been able to read back copies of the newspaper.”

“Albus was in a right state when you fled the country,” said Arthur, “Sent us all searching high and low. It was only when he got hold of the letter you sent Sirius.”

“As we discovered at the beginning of November. The man had the nerve to show up where I've been staying. The headmaster broke the law in doing so... breaking the statute of secrecy, all in the name of dragging me back to England with him.”

“It's a bit of a sore spot with Rasalas,” said Sirius, “And to be clear, he still has no intention of returning to England any time soon.”

“What I need, is for people to respect my choices, realize that I'm not a chess piece. I'm a nearly-grown wizard, not some child—from the sketchy knowledge of my past home life, I never have been.”

“You've changed, mate.”

“And I think we can understand why, Ronald,” said Mr. Weasley, as they stepped into the manor.

“Just... realize, I'm not the person you remember. Though... I would like to know more of what... well... I know I've stayed at your house at least twice... and there's loads of other memories... help me fill in the blanks... if that makes sense.”

“We'll need a pensieve for that, but I would love to help you,” Mr. Weasley offered.

Once Mrs. Weasley and her husband were settled in the room made up for them, rooms were then assigned for the others. Fred and George claimed a room together, while Ron and Ginny then chose separate rooms.

Rasalas decided to have Ron close when Sirius once again appeared, bringing Hermione. For the second time that day, he found himself in a vice-like hug, and she too then held her old friend at arm's length.

“Harry... God, you really changed.”

Rasalas gave a lopsided grin. “We have a lot of things to catch up on, eh?”

“We're going to have to tell him everything, Hermione. He doesn't remember any of it.”

“Sirius warned me already. What did the Muggle doctors tell you?”

“Retrograde amnesia.”

“I've read about that. How did you hurt yourself?”

“I was attacked at the beginning of September. Come on, I want you guys to meet someone,” said Rasalas, leading them back toward the house. A quick glance up at the verandah confirmed his query was still up there, along with his brother.

“Where have you been staying?”

“At a new friend's place. They're here as well, though... not sure where they've got off to. Just come with me.”

“God, this place belongs to Sirius?”

“We could've been here rather than that dingy dungeon back in London,” Ron lamented, as they walked into the enormous foyer. “No endless bouts of cleaning back in the summer... no boggarts to drive mum half spare... it was like waging war on the house! Never mind that loathsome house elf.”

“Ronald! He's not well in the head,” Hermione protested, as they climbed the stairs.

“I don't remember the townhouse, and after meeting Kreacher, I know what you mean. Nearly cursed him for the nasty things he said to one of my new friends. Don't give him excuses, Hermione.”

They crossed the landing, and he stopped in front of one of the doors. Faint voices could be heard inside. He pushed the door open.

“Right. So this is my room.”

“Blimey, this is like Sirius' room back at the townhouse.”

“It was at one time, so he says.”

A four-poster queen-sized bed rested along the wall to the left, with end tables on either side. The coverings were mostly red, with gold trim. A large drawing table was set up against one of the large windows, and it was covered in papers and journals. A guitar rested in a cradle next to it. The windows were both open, as were a set of double doors that led out onto the verandah. The pair of voices belonged to two men sitting in comfortable chairs outside.

“Forgive the mess, it isn't mine. One of my new friends writes songs, so that stuff belongs to him,” Rasalas grinned, leading them out the set of double doors and onto the verandah.

“Good grief, Harry...” said Hermione, now getting a good look at the grounds. Ron, meanwhile, was momentarily fixated on the two strangers who had most definitely noticed their arrival.

Rasalas could only grin. “Right. Err... Hermione, Ron, this is Brady, and his brother Corey.”

“A pleasure,” said Hermione.

“Err... likewise.”

“You're Ras' old friends. Thought you'd be older,” said Brady, as they shook hands.

“Long story,” said Rasalas, “But we used to go to Hogwarts together.”

“Until he was expelled,” said Ron, “Good on 'ya getting that reversed. The _Prophet_ had a field day.”

“I know. I saw it, as did my solicitor.”

Rasalas produced his wand, and summoned a few extra chairs from further down the verandah.

“Hope we're not interrupting.”

“Nah, not really,” said Corey, “Jus' catchin' up.”

“As we'll be doing,” said Rasalas, “I mean it guys. I need to know everything... every detail about what we did together.”

“Like the troll incident,” said Ron.

“Trolls. There's trolls in your world,” Corey deadpanned.

“Harry, do you have a copy of 'Fantastic Beasts'?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You should show them,” Hermione continued, “I gather you both have been told about the magical world.”

“Yeah, big shock, gotta admit,” said Brady, “Still gettin' used to it. My little bro here learned about it a couple days ago.”

“Mom's not taking it well,” said Corey, “Stuff's still freakin' her out.”

“It's not normal for Muggles to learn about our world... does the ministry here know?”

“Aurors helped gettin' us here,” said Brady, “'an Sirius.”

“Yeah, considering he had to. No one comes here without him escorting them. The floo's on call only, no travel allowed. Security's really tight,” Rasalas explained. “So no visits from Death Eaters or old farts who think they have a right to stick their nose in my business.”

That got a laugh out of both Brady and his brother.

“Keep sayin' to Ras, just shoot his ass.”

Rasalas only rolled his eyes, as he took a seat beside Brady. Brady, meanwhile, noticed something odd on the back of Ron's left hand.

“What did that?”

Ron pulled it away. “It's nothing.”

But Rasalas had seen it as well, and so also grabbed it.

“Who is responsible?”

“Harry... it's nothing,” Ron persisted, dropping into a vacant seat.

“No, Ron, it ain't _nothing_ ,” Rasalas hissed, “There's only one thing I know of that can cause that sort of scar. It's a blood quill, in case you're wondering—I've seen Sirius have to use it on a few occasions. So who's making you write with something that outside a few very specific circumstances, is considered an instrument of torture?”

“It's Delores Umbridge... our Dark Arts Defence professor,” Hermione supplied.

“Oh. You mean that pathetic witch who's trying to take over the school,” said Rasalas, nastily, “I'm well aware of her. As much as I have a hate-on for Dumbledore right now, at least he's not turning the school into a concentration camp.”

Ron was confused. “A what?”

“I won't get into it. But you guys are living in a prison, rather than a school. Am I right?”

“Spot on, yeah,” Ron agreed. “The teachers are scared of her I reckon, no one's wanting to speak up, fearing they'll end up sacked.”

“Sacked?” Corey asked.

“Fired,” Rasalas clarified. “But seriously. If she's using a blood quill on people—never mind minors... there's more than a few people that will have a few things to say about it.”

“But the ministry...” Hermione began.

“There's only one legal use for a blood quill: the signing of official documents—magically-binding contracts for example. Outside of that, they're classified as a dark object. Sirius explained it to me one day. I mean, the immediate consequences are evident... never mind the long-term mental effects. Is she using it on fifth year students? Or lesser?”

“I think she's used them on third-years,” said Ron.

“I'll need to fire-call my solicitor.”

“Harry... it's...”

“Don't say it's nothing, Hermione! Just what I'm reading in the newspaper paints her to be a horrible woman... this...” Rasalas indicated the nasty scar on the back of Ron's hand, “Proves she's nothing less than a monster that I will see _destroyed_ , one way or another. No one comes after my friends without suffering consequences.”

“Woah, mate, you've really changed,” said Ron.

Hermione also couldn't help but notice the change. Gone was the young wizard who would 'go it alone', only ask for help when it was the last possible recourse. In his place was a man. Someone who would reach out and take advantage of resources available to him. A future leader.

“I didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter, now, did I? What I went through in September... I guess the silver lining in it, is that I've been able to reinvent myself. It's one of the things my solicitor's told me. And Brady here... he's been nothing but a great friend. He... or... his tour bus, they found me on the side of the highway.”

“He saved your life,” Hermione realized.

“Exactly.”

“I... well... thank you. Harry means a lot to many people, and not just the 'boy-who-lived' rubbish,” said Hermione.

“What's a tour bus?” Ron asked.

“Uh... it's complicated, Ron. But... a bus is a non-magical vehicle that can carry many people. Brady's is customized to be like a home on wheels.”

“Oh. I think I get it. Something like dad's car.”

“Bigger, and leave out the flying bit,” Rasalas grinned.

“But makin' it fly would be cool,” Brady threw in.

Ron grinned, while Rasalas rolled his eyes. “Quiet, you're new here.”

The five of them ended up having dinner on the verandah. Sirius had appeared just before sunset, and a small table was set up, and a little while later, a service appeared all on its own, with plates and drinks for everyone.

“Y'know,” Corey said, “I could get used to this magic thing.”

“'ya better... I'm guessin' we'll be here a while... and Ras still ain't been home,” said Brady, as he refilled his glass. Rather than sending up bottles of beer, a pitcher had been provided.

“Where is home for you?” Hermione asked.

“Georgia, miss,” Corey answered.

“Oh. I... that would explain the accent.”

“Yeah... it is a bit different,” Ron agreed.

Brady gave a shrug. “Don't know any other way.”

“No, different is hearing Hagrid,” said Ron, “You need to see it to believe it.”

“A pensieve would be handy, but... we don't have one,” said Rasalas. “But yeah, Hagrid's rather... unique. Gentle man though. I'll have a few questions for him next time we meet. I know he was responsible for taking me to my magic-hating relatives.”

“Harry, it's not his fault,” said Hermione.

“No, he likely only made some bad choices in following someone blindly. If he wishes to remain a friend, he'll need to stop following a moron. And that will go for a number of others who say they're in my corner, but still think Dumbledore's word is the end all and the be all. The man's a criminal, at least according to Canadian law. That has to say something.”

Rasalas finished the last bit of food remaining on the plate, and when he set his cutlery down, the plate vanished. Just then, Ryan and Aaron stepped out onto the verandah from several doors down. Seeing the gathering, they joined them.

“Still n-n-not done? We can come back in a bit.”

“No, it's cool. Uh... you'll need to locate some more chairs though.”

“Down that way,” said Aaron, pointing to the far end.

Rasalas produced his wand, and summoned two more chairs.

“Now. Err... guys, this is Ryan, and his boyfriend, Aaron. Ryan, Aaron, my two oldest friends, Ron and Hermione.”

“G-g-good to meet you,” said Ryan, as they shook hands.

“Between three mothers... we were all chased out of the dining room soon as the meal was done,” said Aaron. “I'm thinking Christmas is gonna be nuts.”

“If your Ma's anything like m-mine, Ron...”

“Cooking? Oh yeah, she goes overboard sometimes,” Ron admitted.

Ryan grinned. “Thinkin' this m-m-might be the best Yule yet.”

“Yule. Then you don't celebrate Christmas,” said Hermione.

“No, we do. J-j-just, we also mark the winter solstice. There's a b-b-big fat candle on the table downstairs that we used.”

“It was really awesome. I could feel the surge of energy this year, much stronger than last year... or the year before,” Aaron admitted. “It was like... a surge of warmth racing from my feet to my head, and back again. It was just as the sun breached the horizon.”

“Ma s-s-says it was the earth's own magic... the Goddess herself. We were all b-b-blessed by the sun's return.”

Both Brady and Corey remained quiet, choosing not to comment. If that was their religion, then so be it, but both brothers were more than content with their faith.

“Right,” said Rasalas, “So one thing you guys need to know about Ryan here, is that he's only recently learned he was a wizard.”

“Really? You didn't get a letter when you were eleven?” Hermione asked.

Ryan only held up his arm, showing the terrible burn scar on his right forearm. “I nearly d-d-died from this. The wand maker in Toronto says it was my m-m-m-magic that saved my life.”

Now both Ron and Hermione understood.

“So Harry's been teaching you about our world then,” Hermione guessed.

“Slowly, but y-yeah. Ras has been an awesome teacher.”

“Hold on a tic,” Corey finally interjected, “Why you guys keep callin' him 'Harry'?”

“Because that used to be my name,” Rasalas answered, “I adopted a new name back in August, which is legally binding. These guys can get away with still calling my 'Harry', because that's how they've always known me. I mean, I could force them not to, but I won't.

“That kind of thing's reserved for enemies. Or people who only want to see me as the 'saviour of the wizarding world', or, 'the boy-who-lived', or some other rubbish, rather than see me for who I really am. Only friends can address me on a first-name basis, and only my closest, dearest friends and those I love can address me by my former name. To everyone else, it's Mr. Black.”

Rasalas touched the hidden ring on his finger, making it temporarily visible.

“One day when Sirius passes on, I inherit his entire estate. But even as the named heir, I still have plenty of power to back up my words.”

Just then, there was a noisy _pop_ , and Kreacher appeared close to the table. By this point, everyone present had seen the house elf at least once.

“Blood traitors, Muggles, filth... invading my old master's villa...” he muttered, “Not worthy to be scraped from the bottom of a boot.”

“Kreacher. Enough.”

“Of course, little master,” Kreacher croaked, bowing low, “He's not fit, he isn't,” he again muttered under his breath, “Such vile vermin, Muggles—”

Corey had practically flew out of his seat, snatched Kreacher by the filthy pillow case he was wearing, and quite literally hurled him out over the bannister. The elf made an absolutely pathetic little screech, as he soared through the air, to land roughly half-way across the lawn.

For several moments, no one said a thing. Ron looked like he was trying to hold in a fart, while Hermione's eyes were about as wide as saucers. Corey, meanwhile, furrowed his brows.

“Had enough of his trash-talk. Little monster should be shot.”

And that sent everyone off the deep end. Rasalas collapsed in a fit of laughter, as did Ryan and Aaron, with Brady following suit. Ron finally burst out laughing, leaving Hermione being the only one not seeing it funny.

“That... that was deplorable! Barbaric!” she finally protested.

“No, it was funny as hell,” Rasalas laughed, “Maybe he'll think twice about bad-mouthing Muggles from here on out.”

“But...”

“But nothing. Never mind should Sirius find out. We're still debating about giving him clothes, y'know.”

“Looks like he needs some anyway. Feels like I'm needin' a shower 'an I only touched him a second,” said Corey.

“No, no, no... you guys don't get it,” said Rasalas, “Giving clothes to a house elf is like firing them.”

“Oh. Even better,” said Corey.

“Thing is, he knows a lot of secrets about the Order of the Phoenix... this from Sirius. So letting him go could have dangerous consequences, particularly if he goes to the Malfoys,” Rasalas explained.

“Then just shoot 'im,” said Brady, “Little monster's a good description.”

“It's barbaric!” Hermione protested again.

“And insulting my friends isn't winning him any points. KREACHER!”

_CRACK_! The house elf was in front of them again, but he all but hissed at Corey.

“Shut up!” Rasalas snarled, revealing the heir ring, “You ever insult my friends again, I will order you to drown yourself in a pool of piranha. That includes using the phrase 'blood-traitor', 'mudblood', or any word or phrases I might declare forbidden in the future. Is this instruction in any way unclear?”

“Of course, young master,” Kreacher croaked, bowing so low his nose was nearly touching the floor.

“If any of the occupants of this house should ask you to do something, you will follow that instruction to the letter, as though either I myself, or Sirius had given that order. You will not degrade the occupants of this house in any way, shape, or form... nor shall you complain about your 'dear old mother'. EVER. AGAIN. Is that instruction in any way unclear?”

“No, master.”

“Good. Now you can carry on clearing our dishes, as you were likely ordered. You will do it quietly and without comment.”

Kreacher bowed low again, and with a snap of his fingers, the dishes on the table vanished. The house elf immediately followed, with an equally noisy _CRACK_.

Now Hermione looked somewhere between shocked and traumatized. She finally got to her feet, and unsteadily made her way back into the manor.

“Uh... I need to...” Ron stammered.

“Yeah, of course,” said Rasalas.

Ron stood up, and followed Hermione.

“What's wrong with him anyway?” Aaron finally dared ask.

“Sirius says it's because he's been mistreated for so long. Kreacher's been in the family a long time. He's never seen a whole lot of kindness.. never mind the backwards opinions of Sirius' family. They practically worshipped Voldemort.”

“Then m-m-maybe you guys need to get rid of him, for real. What if he starts d-d-doing stuff for the other side?”

“It doesn't work that way, Ryan,” Rasalas answered, “To directly attack someone here... the family magic would lash out against him... never mind the wards. Anyway. I'll say this. You gave me a nice, lovely memory to power my Patronus charm.”

Knowing he would be asked, Rasalas produced his wand. “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

All four of his new friends were amazed by the enormous ghostly stag that materialized a short distance away. To Rasalas, it had been almost effortless, given the well of amazing, beautiful memories he'd collected in the short months since his accident.

“Damn... there's... six points, no?” Corey guessed, as the spectral animal nuzzled its nose against Rasalas' cheek.

“Five. I see five,” said Brady, “Still is somethin'. What's it for?”

“A protector against several very dark creatures in my world. One of them is called a Dementor. I know I've faced them twice, but... I haven't seen memory of it. But they're very dangerous things.”

Rasalas flicked his wand again, and the stag vanished. “What were you guys counting?”

“Number of points on the antlers,” said Corey.

“Oh. You guys hunt, I guess.”

“Yeah. We'll take 'ya when... whenever this bullshit's done,” Brady promised.

“'an 'ya can't use magic... gotta do it the proper way,” Corey threw in.

“Yeah, of course. That would be cheating, right?” Rasalas grinned.

Sometime later, Sirius approached them.

“What in the world did you do to Kreacher?”

“He's not complaining I hope.”

“Oh no, nothing like that. But God oh God, I've never seen him cleaning with such vigour. He's not even muttering a word of complaint! So what did you do to him?”

“Corey threw him over the bannister here, and when he returned, I threatened to make him drown himself in a pool of piranha if he didn't smarten up.”

Sirius let out a bark-like laugh.

“My dear old mother will be rolling over in her grave, I think. Good job, kiddo. And Mr. Gibson, I tip my hat to you. Batty old house elf might think twice before looking down his nose at Muggles again.”

Rasalas let out a laugh. “He all but hissed at Corey when he came back up. He's now forbidden from using the word 'mudblood', or the phrase 'blood-traitor'. It'll drive him mental, but I don't think the Weasleys need to hear it, nor does Ryan here. And if there's anything else he shouldn't be saying, it can be added to the list.”

“Good thinking. Seems like your hand might be a little more firm than mine... not that I'm complaining.”

“If the Weasleys are going to be staying here... never mind Brady and his family... last thing any of them need is a demented house elf spewing hateful things. And quite frankly, 'I' don't need it either.”

Rasalas thought of something.

“Did someone show Hermione to a room? I'll need to have a word with her about what happened earlier. I think she was horrified by what we did to Kreacher.”

“I believe Ron did.”

Rasalas let out a sigh and stood up. “There's an ugly conversation. But it needs to be done. One thing I know about Hermione. She's stubborn. When she latches onto something... she doesn't let go easily.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Christmas is celebrated at Black Island; Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron then attend the New Years Eve celebration in Niagara Falls, with a most bizarre turn of events..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: My sincere apologies for the mix-up. Seems I neglected to post this chapter, which made 14 and 15 make no sense. It's since been corrected._   
> _Like in a number of my other stories, Ron and Hermione (or most of Harry's year mates for that matter) don't tend to have a lot of screen time, and for good reason._   
> _He somewhat knows who they are, but now, really, he's been with Ryan and Aaron, who are 19 and 18 respectively, and Brady, who is 25. A different age group, never mind the fact that Sirius is also grooming him to be the new Lord Black. So his peer group has changed, as has his personality._


	14. Christmas, 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Christmas is celebrated at Black Island; Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron then attend the New Years Eve celebration in Niagara Falls, with a most bizarre turn of events..._

114\. Christmas, 2005  
December 25, 2005 – January 1, 2006

> _“Christmas, my child, is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it's Christmas.”_

_\- Dale Evans_

_December 25_

Rasalas couldn't remember anything about his experiences of past Christmases. Ron had certainly filled him in on his stays back at Hogwarts, and the funny and amazing gifts he'd received in the past, but still... he couldn't remember anything first-hand. So, like so many other experiences of late, he treated it like a first, to enjoy the moment for what it was. It was the best he could do.

When he woke up, then, he found a pile of packages set at the foot of his bed. He pulled on a tee shirt, and snatched his wand up off the end table. He flicked it at the lamps, the gesture alone bringing them flaring to life, casting a soft light in the room. Now able to properly see, he turned his attention to the gifts.

The first one, turned out to be a home-knit jumper from Mrs. Weasley. It was emerald green, with a silver 'R' on the front. Rasalas put it on at once.

The next package was rather small, and when he opened it, there was a note, along with a chain with a strange amulet attached to it. 'Rasalas,' the note read, 'This is called a time-turner. Each turn of the hourglass will turn back time by one hour. Speak to me in private before using it, since there are a few other very important points that you must understand, since meddling with time can have grave consequences. And I must stress, don't tell many people you have it. It was very difficult to procure.'

Rasalas pulled the amulet and chain out of the box, and looked at it a little more closely. It was comprised of a small hoop. Inside it, was a second, smaller hoop, and inside of it, was what looked like a tiny hour glass. The entire setting appeared to be made of gold, save for the tiny hour glass and the sand inside it. A time-turner... so... time travel? But why would Sirius give it to him, if it were dangerous?

No matter, he put it around his neck. He had to smirk. What would Brady think, seeing the new piece of jewelry?

The next box was slightly heavy, and so he opened it carefully. The card indicated it was from Kate. 'To help you remember, but also organize your thoughts. Merry Christmas', the card read. A small, covered clay bowl rested inside, and Rasalas knew immediately what it was: a pensieve. Indeed, a very useful gift!

From Ryan and Aaron, he received a gift certificate for a clothing store he'd never heard of in Toronto, and the promise to take him shopping in the new year. Rasalas looked forward to it, since he didn't have all that much in terms of clothing. In the months at the Sawyers, it was one thing he'd somewhat neglected.

There were two more boxes remaining. One of them was heavy, and the card indicated it was from Phil and Casey. Inside, he found a notebook computer, much like Ryan's. A note on the top warned him: 'do not try and turn it on until we return to the house. And we will have one more gift for you at that time.'

The last box had a little weight to it as well, and just the handwriting on the card told him who it was from. Rasalas opened the box to find a leather vest identical to the one Brady owned, along with a pair of dark leather boots.

Now, he was torn. To put on his jacket, he would have to pull off the jumper Mrs. Weasley had given him. Nah. He liked the jumper, so it stayed on. He slid the vest on over top of it. The boots... they would likely look a little goofy with him wearing shorts, so he would have to try them later. For now... time to see if anyone else in the house was up.

Pulling the door open, his nose was nearly overwhelmed by the smell of breakfast. So, definitely not the first person up, and the sounds coming from the dining room gave further evidence to the fact.

Stepping into the dining room, Rasalas was nearly bowled over by a blur of brown hair.

“Happy Christmas!”

“Air... Hermione...”

They separated, but Rasalas grinned. “Happy Christmas.”

He only had a chance to get another breath, before again being almost tackled, this time by a lanky ginger.

“Thanks for the broom!” said Ryan, as they separated, “I could kiss you.”

Rasalas smirked. “Please do.”

Ryan smirked right back, but planted a kiss on Rasalas' forehead. “Aaron m-might get jealous.”

“Damn straight. Merry Christmas, Ras.”

“And Merry Christmas to you.”

Rasalas took a seat at the table, and began fixing himself a plate, only then noticing that none of the Gibsons had come down yet. It seemed like the rest of the adults were missing as well, though voices wafting from another room gave clue as to where they might be.

“Where's Brady?”

“Upstairs with his mum, I think, along with his brother. Mrs. Weasley did send up breakfast with Kreacher.”

Rasalas frowned. “That probably went over well.”

“Harry!”

“Our good friend...”

“Thanks a ton for the... investment! It's brilliant.”

Rasalas craned his neck to see two identical faces peering down at him.

“Yeah, right brilliant o' brother of mine. We'll be able to get things moving months ahead of time.”

“I know I gave you guys the money from the stupid tournament last spring... but since my estate's worth infinitely more, it was the right thing to do. The wizarding world needs to laugh now and then,” said Rasalas. “Just promise me you won't spend it foolishly.”

It was then Hermione noticed the gold chain and the hour glass dangling around Rasalas' neck.

“Harry, where did you get that?”

“Sirius gave it to me. You... you know what it is then.”

“Of course! Harry, you don't—oh, of course you don't,” said Hermione, catching her mistake. “But has anyone explained it to you... what it can do... the dangers of it?”

“Sirius wants to have a word with me about it, yeah. But when did we use one?”

“In third-year. We rescued Sirius, and saved Buckbeak—he's a Hippogriff.”

“Sirius did mention something about a Hippogriff making a nest in his mother's bedroom back in the townhouse. Something about it being poetic. But either way... I guess I now understand why he might have given this to me.”

“So what is it?” George questioned.

“We can't tell you,” said Hermione, “It's something that's heavily regulated by the ministry. And Harry, I mean it. Don't use it until you speak with Sirius. And what ever you do, don't wear it out in public... at least not in any magical place. There are many people who will know exactly what it is... and will do just about anything to get their hands on it—that from Professor McGonagall.”

She thought for a a moment, then said, “Thanks for the gift certificate. Though I'll probably have to use the owl order. Making a trip to Diagon Alley might not be possible right now.”

“Well it doesn't have an expiry date. Forgive me for it not being all that personal, all I could remember, is that you love to read, so it's the best I could do.”

“Harry! Don't worry about it,” Hermione scolded him, “It's lovely.”

“Tell me what you get with it, and we'll call it even.”

“Thanks for the Bertie Botts Beans and the broom servicing kit,” said Ron, “Mum wants to confiscate my Zonko's gift certificate though.”

“Just warn her that if she does, I'll take you to Zonko's in person. They do have a store in Toronto. I think it might be bigger than the one in... Hogsmeade, is it?”

Ron grinned and nodded, then noticed Rasalas' sweater.

“Oh. Mum knitted you another Weasley jumper.”

“Yeah. It's wicked.”

Ron looked puzzled. “You like it?”

“Why wouldn't I? To receive a gift from someone, no matter how much or little it's worth... it means the world to me. I mean this...” Rasalas gestured to the time-turner, “Is worth no more to me than the sweater. I'm equally touched by the gesture.”

It was then Mrs. Weasley framed the door.

“Come on into the great room so we can clean up the dining room,” she said.

The great room was at the back of the manor, directly behind the main foyer. It too, was two storeys high, with a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Large windows and a set of double doors let plenty of sunlight in. One wall featured a great fireplace, though the fire was rather small—and practically unnecessary, if only to provide atmosphere. After all, December in the tropics felt the same as July. In one corner rested a black baby-grand piano, and a few instrument cases were neatly stacked behind it.

The room was decorated for the season, including an enormous Christmas tree. The rest of the household had already gathered, and were talking amongst themselves.

“Seems I joined the wrong party,” Rasalas joked, parking himself in one of the chairs.

“Not really,” said Sirius, “You were just late. Shame on you for sleeping in on Christmas.”

Rasalas shrugged. “Blame my absent memory, Padfoot. But Happy Christmas everyone. Thank you for the wonderful presents. As I have already said to Ron, I treasure each and every one of them. This is my first Christmas as far as memory goes.”

“Yes, and we will need to have a chat about your... new piece of jewelry,” said Sirius.

“Mum made you a jumper again?” asked Ginny. She had stayed relatively close to her father since they'd arrived at the manor.

“Yes, and I like it very much,” Rasalas grinned, “Your mum's awesome.”

“Mum does see you as an eighth child, Rasalas,” said Bill, “I think mum would have made that permanent if she could have.”

He indicated a parcel under the tree.

“That's for you. I meant to give it to Sirius last night so you'd have it with the rest, but...”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Rasalas picked up the parcel, and pulled the wrapping off. It was a moderate-sized tome, titled 'The warder's guide to wards and spatial protection'.

“I thought you might find that interesting. Happy Christmas.”

It was then that Brady entered the room, with Corey and their mother following.

“Merry Christmas, y'all.”

“Likewise,” said Rasalas, “Did... did you guys have any problems with Kreacher?”

“No. He was good, acted the perfect butler.”

“Good. Good. Err... thank you for the vest and the boots... I haven't tried the boots yet.”

“Come and sit... egg nog if you like,” said Sirius, “Molly and Casey will be in shortly—though Kreacher is more than capable of handling the clean-up.” The last bit was mostly said to himself.

“Mr. Black,” said Betty, “I believe I haven't been that nice of a guest. Thank you for bringin' us here.”

“I'm not offended, Mrs. Gibson. We all understand this may be difficult for you, dealing with strangers, not to mention our world as a whole. If you need anything, just let us know,” said Sirius.

“The one thing I have to say is thank you, Mr. Black, for lookin' out for my boys.”

“Family is everything, Mrs. Gibson, especially now,” said Mr. Weasley, “Rasalas here might as well be an eighth son to us, and it's only because of him that I'm still alive.”

“As it is because of Brady that I'm still alive,” said Rasalas, “I owe him a debt I can never repay. So needless to say, I'll do just about anything to protect him—including protecting his family.”

It was then that both Casey and Molly stepped into the room, with Molly floating a large platter with a tea service in front of her. Sirius drew his wand and floated the other service to a separate table, making room.

“There's coffee too, for those who don't like tea,” said Casey, “Cookies and pastries if you like.”

More than a few hands reached out for the sweets.

“Now. Mrs. Gibson, would you like to help us with Christmas Dinner?”

“I would love to.”

“We would like for Kreacher to be elsewhere today, so an extra hand in the kitchen is welcome. Serving you breakfast this morning was his only duty,” said Casey. “Sirius felt it was a necessary evil, forcing him to serve people he believes are beneath him.”

“Seriously. He was on his best behaviour?”

“Didn't say a word. Kept givin' us death glares though,” said Corey.

“We could ban him from doing that too,” said Rasalas.

“Haven't you done enough to him already?” said Hermione, irritated. That was one issue she would never be okay with, no matter how much they discussed the matter. 

Rasalas let out a sigh. “Let's just leave it be.”

“Yes, indeed, such matters can be looked after some other day.”

“Yeah, back to the presents,” said George, indicating yet another parcel under the tree.

“Mum don't look,” said Fred, while Rasalas was again kneeling at the tree, opening yet another parcel.

“We've been inventing like mad, these are some of our first products.”

“We have an owl-order catalogue for now,” said George.

“What are they?” asked Ryan.

“Mostly prank products.”

“Oh not that nonsense again!” Molly lamented, “I've already burned enough of that rubbish as it is!”

“I think it's brilliant,” said Rasalas. Seeing one labelled 'Canary Cream', he got a flash-memory of exactly what it did.

He smirked. “Brady. Here, try this.”

Seeing the smirking twins, Brady was apprehensive, but... challenge accepted. “This kills me I'm comin' back from the dead an' kickin' your asses.”

“Oh no, nothing fatal here,” Fred promised, still smirking.

Brady shrugged, then bit into the offered confection. It was actually quite good. “So what's it do?”

“You'll see,” George promised. Molly continued to give her twin sons death glares.

“You boys are going into business?” Phil questioned.

“Yes sir,” said Fred, “Rasalas was brilliant helping us get started.”

“You have yourself an attorney?”

“A what?”

“He means a solicitor. And it's a good idea. Next time I see Kate, I'll ask if her firm can represent them.”

“Now look, I won't have—”

There came a distraction in the form of Brady turning into a giant canary.

“Good grief!” Casey exclaimed, shocked.

“Fred and George Weasley!” Molly shrieked.

Corey, meanwhile, was doubled over in his seat, howling with laughter. It took him more than a few seconds to recompose himself, before he managed to say, “Well... 'least now he can really sing like a bird...”

“He'll probably get you back for that,” Rasalas smirked.

Within a minute, Brady began to 'moult' his feathers, and soon after, reverted back to normal. He simply shook his head. “Damn.”

“That's wild,” said Aaron, “You guys really made all this stuff?”

“Neville ate one of those last year,” Ron remembered.

“Yeah, huge hit at the party we had after the first task of the tournament. So we're still looking for a storefront. Hopefully in Diagon Alley, but we might buy out Zonko's in Hogsmeade,” said George.

“So people can turn into animals 'an shit,” Corey guessed.

“Well, Professor McGonagall can turn into a cat,” said Hermione, “It's called an Animagus form. Not everyone can do it though.”

“Rasalas' father could turn into a stag, and as for me,” said Sirius, and right before their eyes, he became an enormous black dog.

“Padfoot,” Rasalas whispered, once again assaulted by a flash-memory.

“You remember him,” Ryan guessed.

“Yeah. One of the very few clear memories I have of my old life. I was really little though. I kept calling him 'pafoo'. I guess I wasn't able to properly pronounce my D's or my T's yet.”

“That's awesome,” said Corey.

Padfoot wagged his tail a few times, then shifted back.

“As Hermione points out, it's a very rare ability. And I'd ask everyone here to keep my form quiet. I could get into trouble since I'm not registered with the ministry.”

“But people can be turned into animals,” said Ron, “Harry won't remember, but last fall, a teacher turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret. Too bad it wasn't permanent. Little menace was made a Prefect this year, and he's been recruited into Umbridge's inquisitional squad. They all but rule the school.”

“Let's just leave that rubbish,” said Rasalas, “Today's not the day.”

“Well... uh, question, 'bout the pouch 'ya gave me,” said Brady, “How much can it carry?”

“I don't know,” Rasalas answered, “I know it can hold a lot. And you know to be careful who sees you putting stuff in it—I mean, if the stuff you're putting in it wouldn't fit spatial reasoning—don't do it in front of people who don't know about magic.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Oh. A Gringotts pouch,” said Bill, recognizing it immediately, “That's really valuable.”

“I ordered it back when Brady was still having trouble with his records and his finances. And there's one more thing. Gringotts is willing to handle his finances, just to prevent such meddling from happening again.”

“'an my cards'll all still work?”

“You'll be issued new cards,” said Sirius, “With the advantage that they'll work in the magical world. As it stands, magical stores won't accept Muggle coin or plastic. Most shops in England, still deal only in wizarding coin, being so backwards compared with the rest of the world.”

“Thank you. Uh... next question. When we goin' flyin'?”

“After lunch,” Rasalas smirked, “Since two of you now have new toys. It might be cool to organize a pick-up Quidditch match... if more brooms can be located.”

“I think we might have a few in the cellar, but I don't know of their condition,” said Sirius, “The house really hasn't been used in perhaps a century, save for my brief visit last year.”

That afternoon passed in a blur of broom races, seeker duels, and a game of pick-up Quidditch (since there weren't enough players for two teams). Rasalas proved that, even though he'd forgotten his past life, he still reigned supreme as champion seeker. Brady proved to be the fastest flier, but when it came to finesse and fine control, Rasalas still won it hands down. They at last called it a day when the sun had long sank behind the trees, and it became difficult to see in the twilight.

Dinner proved to be a spectacular event, given there were three mothers present. The cooking and baking had gone on all day pretty much, with the entire manor being filled with mouth-watering smells. Then, with everyone stuffed to nearly bursting, they again moved to the great room, while Sirius and Bill helped Molly with the clean up.

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur of drink, more food, and music. Rasalas was surprised to learn that Phil was a scratch fiddle player. Couple that with Brady's singing and playing, and a few other voices joining in, it was an amazing cap to an otherwise amazing day. It was certainly a day to remember, and perhaps one hard to outdo. It was likely Brady and his family wouldn't be with them next year, nor the Weasleys for that matter. Once in a lifetime, as Rasalas saw it.

* * *

_December 31_

There had been debate about what to do for the New Year's Eve celebrations. Both Ryan and Aaron had already planned to spend the evening in Niagara Falls at Queen Victoria Park—there was a large, free celebration there with fireworks at midnight.

Ron and the rest of the kids at the manor also wanted to attend, but Molly all but forbid them from attending, save for Fred and George, who were of age. Though she discouraged it, she could not outright forbid them.

Once again, Rasalas was torn. He wanted to go with his new friends to Niagara Falls, but he also didn't want to let down his old friends. It was made even more difficult, when Brady decided to go as well.

Ron had put him at ease. “Go. It'll still be wicked here. Maybe I might get a kiss from Hermione...”

“Dream on, lover boy,” Rasalas teased.

It had taken only a few hours to organize the outing, with Auror Jackson arranging not only the security detail, but the accommodation. Both Rasalas and Brady wondered how they'd managed to pull that off, considering it was more than likely the rooms had been sold out months in advance.

The evening entertainment, meanwhile, proved to be somewhat of an annoyance to Rasalas. It ran something along the line of the kind of music Ryan listened to, but no—at least Ryan's stuff had a soul to it. It was more flash than meaningful lyrics, and quite frankly, Rasalas was nearly ready to just drag everyone back to the manor.

When midnight finally arrived cuing the pyrotechnics, Rasalas couldn't be more thankful. Unfortunately, Ryan was not in the mood to return to the hotel after the fireworks display, and instead dragged them into the casino. Brief embarrassment ensued, when they were all asked for I.D., before being allowed in. Ryan smirked after, whispering something about a Confundus charm on Aaron's I.D.

Knowing that Rasalas had not seen a casino before, Brady showed him the various tables and machines, letting him try everything at least once. It also went without saying, he ended up giving out dozens of autographs and ended up in perhaps twice as many pictures, as he was most certainly recognized.

As it grew really late (or perhaps really early), Brady let the others know he was returning to his hotel room. He had a group of young ladies on his arm, and Rasalas had to roll his eyes, knowing what his friend actually had in mind. He'd not been in the company of the opposite sex, likely for several months. 'Good on him,' Rasalas thought, simply. Though... five of them... wow.

It was even later before everyone else returned to the hotel room. Ryan had the hot streak of the night, winning nearly nine-hundred dollars at the slots. Everyone else ended up losing a bit of coin. Rasalas really didn't care a whole lot, it had been a wicked start to the new year... far better than the noise he'd been subjected to hours before... and by no means was he thinking of the fireworks.

Then secure in his room, he began to get undressed, still buzzing from the combination of the atmosphere and the alcohol. It had been a good night... wait. Was that... Rasalas had to smirk. Brady's room was directly beside his, and it sounded like he was being very-well entertained. More moans. Oh yes, very well entertained—

“ _JESUS FUCK_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas and his friends deal with a near-disaster, requiring the services of a mind-healer. A warning, there is **mature subject matter**._


	15. A Debt Repaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas and his friends deal with a near-disaster, requiring the services of a mind-healer. **A WARNING** : Mature subject matter, and the potential for triggering content._

115\. A DEBT REPAID  
January 1, 2006

> _“Speak not of my debts unless you mean to pay them.”_

  
_\- George Herbert_   


In the four months Rasalas had known Brady, he wasn't one to raise his voice all that much. On stage, during a performance, sure... but otherwise? He could certainly get agitated, but to go off and scream at someone—no, that was out of character.

Another loud thump, and another shriek from next door had Rasalas flying out the door to his room, wand gripped tightly in his hand. He sent a firework down the corridor, then aimed his wand at the door to Brady's room. “ _Reducto_ !”

The door blew in with a violent crash, and he stormed into the room, only to come to an abrupt halt, taking in the scene. Four of the young women Brady had brought up to the room with him were crowded around the bed, all of them wearing only their underclothes. Brady was tied to the bed, stripped nude.

A flash of metal to his left had him turning abruptly. “ _Expelliarmus_ !”

The weapon went clattering up against the wall.

“Move an inch and I'll take your head,” Rasalas hissed.

“C'mon girls, it's just one of them!” one of the assailants jeered. The speaker was nude, and had attempted to attack him with the knife.

“ _Immobilus_!” And now no one in the room could move.

“Rasalas... what—” Sirius immediately understood what was going on, and he too produced his wand.

“They're immobilized... go get Auror Jackson, we need a healer.”

“Did they attack you?”

“That one did,” said Rasalas, pointing to the woman who'd come at him with a knife.

Sirius gave the woman a tragic look. “My dears, by doing that, you have all made a tragic mistake. See, had you not come at my godson, it would be the local police handling this matter. Instead—”

“Everything—What happened?” It was Auror Jackson, who now framed the doorway. He'd began to ask if things were all right, but quickly rephrased the question, seeing the chaos.

“I heard Brady shouting. I broke the door down, and this is what I found,” said Rasalas, “That one—” he pointed at the woman now immobilized to his left, “—came at me with a knife. It's over there.” He pointed to the weapon laying on the floor by the window.

“I see.”

It was then that three more Aurors stepped into the room, all looking grim-faced. One of them produced a camera, and began to photograph the room, starting with the busted door. Rasalas felt bad for his friend... they would take pictures of his humiliating position before he would be moved.

Another, meanwhile, produced a large plastic container, and began to collect the numerous bottles which had collected on a nearby table.

“Auror Dean, d'you mind repairing the door so we have privacy?”

“Sir.” Auror Dean, a short witch with dark hair, produced her wand, and quickly repaired the door. “The electronic lock will have to be replaced.”

“Expected,” said Auror Jackson, “Mr. Black, you mind cancelling your immobilizing charm?”

“Oh. _Finite_ ,” Rasalas spoke, and the five perpetrators found they could move once again. Rasalas, though, kept his wand trained on them, as did Sirius and Auror Jackson.

“What did you do to him?” Rasalas demanded.

“I think there's been a mistake,” the woman who'd had the knife tried, “He was having a great time until you barged in with... whatever you did to me!”

“Nice try. Check for Rohypnol, GHB... hell, might be best to do the full tox screen,” said Auror Jackson.

Auror Dean produced her wand. “You four, step away from the bed and against the window there.” She indicated the open space in front of the window.

“Hold on,” said the Auror taking pictures, “I need to record the victim's state.”

Auror Dean waited for him to finish taking pictures, before kneeling beside the bed. She reached over and felt for a pulse.

“His heart rate's fluctuating. We'll need a healer straight away.”

“Fawkes,” said Rasalas, to no one in particular.

The phoenix arrived in his customary blaze of golden flames. Seeming to know what the problem was, he lit over to the bed, but let out a mournful cry.

“He needs an open wound to cry into,” Auror Jackson realized.

“I'll need to draw blood anyway for the tox screen,” Auror Dean said, pointing her wand at the restraints holding Brady's right hand down. She vanished the restraints, then gripped his hand firmly in his, and making a shallow cut in the palm. Now, she produced a vial from the pocket of her jacket, and collected a small sample of blood, before allowing Fawkes to then cry into the wound.

“So we got forcible confinement, battery, sexual assault, by his state of awareness, I'd say we also have administering an incapacitating agent... Auror Stevens, search their persons.”

The Auror named Stevens produced his wand, along with several bags. A wave of his wand had a number of items come flying out of the first woman who'd had the knife. One of the items was a small bag containing a crystal-like substance. Auror Stevens opened it, took a pinch of it, and dabbed his tongue in it.

“GHB,” he said, after casting a cleaning charm on his mouth.

“So possession of a controlled substance for illegal purposes. And for you specifically, miss, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder of a magical person.”

“Magical person?” the first perpetrator snorted, “You're all sniffin' glue or something. Must be high. Yeah.”

“Get them out of here. Central holding on Toronto Island,” said Auror Jackson.

Auror Stevens and the third Auror secured the accused with magical bindings, and a port key was fashioned that carried them away in a blur of limbs.

“Fawkes, I'll need you to pick up a healer for us,” said Auror Jackson, stepping over to the dresser, and picking up a notepad and a pen. “I'm sure you did a fantastic job fixing his physical ailments, but knowing this sort of crime, there will most definitely be injury to his mental state.”

“ _Mental state_? Bloody hell, he was _raped_! Of _course_ he'll be scarred mentally!” Rasalas yelled, “Sirius, I want these... _wenches_ to pay!”

“Rasalas. The court will handle it,” said Auror Jackson, “They'll face our justice system, likely end up in Azkaban for it. A non-magical person coming after a wizard... it's a very serious crime. Even here.”

He finished scribbling out a note, and held it out for Fawkes. “To Upper Canada Hospital in Toronto. Give it to the greeter, they'll know what to do.”

Fawkes took the note, and vanished in another blaze of golden flames.

“His mother's gonna go spare,” Rasalas whispered, “We... this shouldn't have happened.”

“It could have been worse, kiddo. You prevented it from being so. That's what you take from this. Don't beat yourself up over something you couldn't have seen coming.”

“I still want them to pay,” Rasalas snarled, “Turn them all into sewer rats. Maybe Wormtail might then get some and these worthless wenches might understand what it's like to be violated!”

Sirius arched an eyebrow. Rasalas was beyond angry, and for good reason. Perhaps it might be worth having a look in the old records, see how the family might have dealt with such a situation in the past. Brady and his family were under the Blacks' protection, so most certainly, a few old laws did come into play. Additionally, it would send a very clear message to their enemies.

It was then there came another flash of golden flames, and Fawkes flamed in, bringing a witch in a lime-green robe.

“Over here, madam healer,” Auror Dean called.

The healer joined her at the bed. “What happened?”

“He was administered GHB and restrained at a minimum.”

“All right.” The healer produced her wand, gestured at the floor around the bed, conjuring some curtains. “Everyone else, wait outside. One Auror is enough.”

“Into my room then,” said Rasalas.

Stepping out into the corridor, they found Ryan and Aaron waiting impatiently.

“What happened?”

“Brady was attacked by the group of women he brought up to his suite,” answered Auror Jackson, “They've been detained, and a healer is conducting an exam.”

“G-g-god, we didn't hear anything. S-s-sorry.”

“Not your fault, Ryan. Being next door, I heard him yelling. God, this is so messed up,” said Rasalas, as they stepped into his room.

“Rasalas. Seriously, you saved his life. I caught a glimpse of the thoughts of the ringleader. They would have killed him,” said Auror Jackson.

Rasalas let out a laugh, but it was hollow. “Go figure. A debt paid in full, then.”

“How do you mean?” asked Aaron.

“Th-th-think about it,” said Ryan, “It was Brady who saved Ras' life, right? And here less than ffff-five months later, Ras r-r-returns the favour.”

“When the healer is done with her examination, we'll be returning to the Sawyers' residence,” said Auror Jackson, “Though I like the security at the manor...”

“We'll be playing twenty questions,” Aaron guessed, to which Auror Jackson gave a nod.

“Exactly. Mr. Gibson needs calm and rest, until we can get a mind-healer.”

“I might like to have a word with her as well. This is so messed up,” said Rasalas, again.

“Never mind the incident surrounding your vision of Mr. Weasley's attack.”

“Yeah, that too. But no, my priority now is this rubbish. Never expected...”

“Nor did we. They looked harmless,” said Auror Jackson, “We dropped the ball, and I'll probably hear it from the department head.”

“No matter what... we have to all look out for him now. This sort of shit happens in the community... guys don't think it can happen to them, right? But it does... and it's the same.”

“Community? Oh.” Rasalas caught on to what Aaron meant. “But... Brady's straight as an arrow...”

“Doesn't matter,” said Aaron, dismissively, “God... this will all but kill him inside. I mean, you know what he sings about in most of his songs.”

Rasalas gave a nod, once again feeling white-hot anger lick his insides. Aaron was right. To be attacked by... well, maybe not quite the female type depicted in his music... but still... something close to the subject matter becoming something threatening? There was no mistake, his friend had been damaged, and at this point, it was unknown just how badly.

A few minutes later, Auror Dean asked them back into the room. The healer was just finishing, and had vanished the curtains she had conjured.

“He will need a mind-healer sooner rather than later.”

“I'll be coming by Upper Canada Hospital soon as we're done here and get Mr. Gibson back to a secure location,” said Auror Jackson, “I can make the arrangements then. He's been sedated?”

“Yes. So he won't stir for several hours. His family will be notified?”

“Yes,” said Sirius, “His mother is staying at another residence of mine. We'll likely wait until later in the morning before breaking such unfortunate news.”

“All right. Then here is where I take my leave. Any further complications, notify the hospital at once.” She twisted on the spot and Disapparated.

“That's our cue to leave as well. Where are his things?”

“Err... there.”

His clothes had been left in a neat pile on one of the chairs. That meant that at least part of the event, he'd been a willing participant. Sirius levitated Brady off the bed, and another flick of the wand had him dressed.

“Um... Sirius and Rasalas. If you could support him and help him reach the port key...” Auror Jackson had produced a tin pie plate from one of the pockets of his jacket. “ _Portus_.” It shimmered blue a moment before falling still.

“Actually, Aaron, if you could help Rasalas with Brady... I need to stay behind and settle up. I'll see you back at the Sawyers in about a half hour.”

* * *

The Port key dropped them in the yard behind the house. With one of them travelling unconscious, they all ended up sprawled on the frozen ground. The cold actually woke Brady up, but Auror Jackson immediately stunned him again.

“C'mon, help me carry him,” said Rasalas.

“Why don't you just use magic?”

Rasalas gave Aaron a glare. “Rather impersonal, don't you think? This was bad enough.”

This time it was Ryan who helped, and they carried Brady into the house—Auror Jackson had unlocked the back door with a wave of his wand. It was a bit of a challenge getting him up the stairs, but they finally got him into bed. Another flick of Auror Jackson's wand had him stripped down to his underwear, and under the covers.

“You've done this before,” said Rasalas, trying to get his mind off the terrible events of the morning.

“I have two boys at home.”

“But you don't ssss-see them that often, if you're always w-w-working here.”

“I see them enough. Likely won't be until this afternoon today. This will make a lot of paperwork as it is. Never mind the conversation I'll inevitably have to have with the department head. Really dropped the ball here.”

“Will he stay asleep?”

“Should. If the healer gave him a dreamless-sleep potion, he won't wake for several hours. I'd suggest you all get some rest, we'll need to discuss this matter further as it is, with clear heads. As it is, I have to attend the hospital and arrange for a mind-healer to visit. That'll likely be later this morning.”

They watched Auror Jackson leave.

“I don't know about you guys, but there's no way I'm gonna sleep,” said Rasalas, dragging a chair over beside Brady's bed. “I'm staying here. You guys can borrow my bed if you want.”

“Why don't th-th-they Obliviate him?” Ryan wondered.

“I don't know,” said Rasalas, “Maybe the mind-healer can tell us. But... that kind of makes sense. I almost wish we could trade places. To be able to forget such a terrible thing... this is so messed up.”

“Get some rest, Ras. Even just closing your eyes a bit,” said Aaron, as the pair lay down. Ryan immediately pulled Aaron close, so they were spooned up against each other.

* * *

It seemed like only minutes later, that someone put a hand on his shoulder.

“Rasalas?”

“Huh?” Rasalas sat up and rubbed his eyes. He found Auror Jackson had returned, along with a witch in lime-green robes. At first, he thought it was the same healer who'd attended the scene back at the hotel, but... no, it was someone different.

She was perhaps a little shorter than Ryan, but definitely taller than Aaron. Maybe Brady's height. She had short, sandy hair and a heart-shaped face.

“Rasalas, this is Theresa Fleming, a mind-healer from Upper Canada Hospital. She'll be speaking to Mr. Gibson first, and then she'll speak to you.”

“Oh. Uh, great.” 

Rasalas looked over to his own bed, and found it unoccupied. Aaron and Ryan had left then. Back to their own room perhaps? He stood up.

“I'm not leaving the room.”

“It's fine, but I'll be putting up a privacy ward,” said Theresa, “No matter what the relationship, I do enforce healer-patient privilege.”

“I understand.”

“Has he moved?”

“No. Not that I know of,” Rasalas answered. “What... what time is it?”

“Just after ten. Rasalas, why don't you go down and get something to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“Well... why don't you wake him up? It'll be rather impersonal if we use magic.”

Rasalas reached over and gave Brady's hand a squeeze. “Hey. Brady?”

Brady momentarily opened his eyes, but shut them again.

“There's someone who wants to speak with us,” Rasalas tried.

“Fuck off,” came the muttered reply.

“Mr. Gibson...”

“GO. Away.”

“We can do this here or at the hospital,” said Theresa.

Brady again opened his eyes, and focused on the speaker.

“Maybe a calming draught might work,” Rasalas suggested.

“Fuck off with your potions,” Brady muttered, “Unless there's somthin' 'ya got that'll make me forget.”

“Unfortunately we don't,” answered Theresa, “However, there are other things we can do. I'm Theresa, and I'm a mind-healer from Upper Canada Hospital. I don't promise to have all the answers, but I can help you make sense of things.”

“So you're a shrink then.”

“Better,” Theresa answered, “Non-magical psychologists and psychiatrists don't have access to the mind-arts, a branch of magic. But it still rests on your shoulders, what you take from our sessions. Are you willing to at least give it a try?”

Brady let out a huff. “All right.”

“Make yourself comfortable then. Auror Jackson, and Mr. Black, I'll have you wait over there.” Theresa pointed to the opposite side of the room, and then drew her wand.

When Rasalas and Auror Jackson were on the other side of the room, she then flicked her wand at the floor, and any further conversation could not be heard.

“I'll be downstairs,” said Auror Jackson.

“Don't you need to get home?”

“No. I'm here until noon. Longer if necessary. Don't worry about me, my wife knows my job's important. Why don't you lay down? They'll likely be a while, probably an hour.”

“Yeah. Good thought.”

Rasalas lay down on his bed, and for a while, watched as Theresa spoke with Brady. Though he couldn't hear what was being said, it looked like the two got along okay, so perhaps, things might work. At least he wasn't swearing at her. That had really caught Rasalas off guard. And yet, it was understandable, given his mental state. In his place, Rasalas would be angry at the world, too.

He folded his hands across his chest, and closed his eyes. What a terrible end to the night. To be violated so... and the ones responsible had appeared so innocent, only offering him a good time. Yeah, right... good time. He'd remember that next time he took someone out on a date. 'Say, is this going to end with a goodnight kiss, or a spiked drink?' Like  _that_ would go over well.

Sometime later, he once again felt someone touch him on the arm.

“Mr. Black?”

“It's Rasalas. You're finished?”

“Yes, at least that which I wished to remain private,” said Theresa.

Rasalas opened his eyes, and sat up. His immediate concern was for Brady, but he found he was still laying on his own bed, though he propped himself up on one arm.

“Now, if you're not comfortable with Mr. Gibson hearing—”

“He knows already.”

“Oh. I see. I understand you have a pensieve.”

“Given to me for Christmas.”

Rasalas produced his wand, and summoned the object from a nearby dresser.

“I'd like to see a memory of your dream, first off. I would then like to see the memory of your recurring dream involving the black door.”

Rasalas touched his wand to his temple, and began to draw out the requested memories.

“Just the dreams, or the events immediately following?”

“Just the dreams for now.”

Rasalas dropped the fine, hair-like substance into the clay bowl, causing the liquid to shimmer. Theresa put a finger in the fluid, and became rigid.

“That looks fucked up, 'ya know,” Brady observed. His voice was barely above a whisper, almost ragged.

“But bloody useful, have to give it that much.”

“Why'd we come back here?”

“I think it's because the security is a little less rigid here. You know the only way to or from Black Island is through Sirius, right? It's gonna be a challenge once Ryan and Aaron go back to school in a week... and Ron and Hermione go back to Hogwarts next week...”

“Guess I should be sayin' thanks... saved my ass last night.”

“And I'd do it again, Brady. It's what friends do, right? And I promise this. If the ministry doesn't deal with them, the family will. You and your brother and your mum are under our protection.

“No matter what, I'll always have your back... just as I'll always protect Ron and Hermione... they were my first friends ever.”

Theresa un-froze, and carried a grim expression on her face.

“Most unusual. I haven't seen many cases like this. It was as though you actually were the snake. That an accurate description?”

“Spot on,” said Rasalas, “I felt like the snake... I could hear its thoughts... it was as though I was in its head.”

“Seriously,” said Brady, “That's fucked up.”

“Care to see it?”

“NO.” The answer came rather forcefully.

Rasalas forced back the urge to laugh, as he recollected the memory, and used his wand to put it back in his head.

“Any clue what it might be?”

“Has anyone had a good look at that scar?” Theresa questioned, pointing to the scar on Rasalas' forehead.

“I don't know. I would guess probably not... at least no healer. I mean, the doctors at Sunnybrook probably did, but...”

“They wouldn't be able to do anything with it,” said Theresa, as she pointed her wand at the scar, and cast a few spells. “I would like for someone from the Department of Mysteries to have a look at it. If you're willing.”

“I won't become a lab rat, madam healer.”

“Well, that's something I leave up to you, then. I think that's one thing I want both of you to understand. I'm here for your benefit. If you don't want to do something, I won't ever force you. You can take as much or as little from these sessions as you like, but I do ask you at least try.”

“Both of us?” Rasalas questioned.

“Yes. Both of you. Though Mr. Gibson will also be getting a private session, at least for the interim, both of you will be taking part in meditation and calming exercises. You will both benefit from them, and in your case, Mr. Black, those exercises lead to a magical mind art called Occlumency.”

“Will it help me stop having these weird dreams and visions?”

“I honestly don't know until we try,” Theresa answered. She then threw up a privacy ward.

“There's something you need to know.”

“Is he gonna be all right?”

“It will take some time. No matter how little they actually did to him, it's still a terrible ordeal.”

“Why can't you just Obliviate him? I mean, when Muggles see magic, that's what we do, right?”

“He's suffered a horrible trauma, mentally, and physically. Such things are not easy to erase. We certainly could, but your friend would never be the same, possibly suffering far worse damage than he's dealing with now,” Theresa explained. “He's been given a calming draught, and he'll likely need another before the end of the day—how are you for potions?”

“We can get more if needed.”

“As I will tell others, for the next few days he needs to be stress-free. No stressful or disruptive activities around him. He will go through a range of emotions. Just help him work through them. Don't be surprised if he's needy. If he wants something, make sure he gets it. I mean it. No matter how trivial it might be, he needs comfort.”

“His mum...”

“Will be told the same thing. And I warn you that you'll probably not get a whole lot of privacy over the next while. He'll need his family as much as he'll need his friends. I understand the pair of you have a unique connection.”

“More so now, yeah.”

“Don't be surprised if he leans on you more often for support then. All right,” said Theresa, dropping the privacy ward, “Let me collect a few things, and I'll be back shortly.”

She left the room. Only now did Rasalas get a good look at his friend. He still looked nearly ashen, carrying a haunted look in his eyes. It was like... his cousin. Back at the end of July, he realized, as he was hit by the flash-memory. His cousin... his non-magical cousin, had been attacked by a Dementor. Nearly kissed, until it was driven off by Rasalas' Patronus. Now, Brady looked almost identical.

“What?” Brady asked.

“I... my cousin. Just got another memory. He looked exactly like you do now, after he was attacked by a Dementor.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I wish there was something... but... I'm at a loss. Such rubbish! It should never have happened!”

Rasalas rubbed his face.

“Auror Jackson's beating himself up over it, y'know. Says he dropped the ball just letting those little monsters go off with you without doing some quiet investigating.”

“What happened to 'em?”

“I think they were sent to a ministry holding cell. Just... don't think about it. Trust me, we'll deal with them, one way or another.”

“My mom... my brother...”

“They'll know soon if not already,” Rasalas answered, “Sirius may bring them here, it might be best to just hold off until we get back to the manor.”

Brady scowled, but said nothing. His mother was going to pitch a fit, that much he knew. Part of him wanted to just keep it quiet, not worry her, but... Rasalas' words came to him at once: she likely already knew. He needed a shower. His skin still crawled from whatever... from them touching him. 'God help me, they was gon' cut my dick off...'

His thoughts were interrupted, as Theresa returned, with two potions and a small case. She opened the case, and pulled out three small objects that looked like cushions. They were placed on the floor, and with a swish from her wand, they were enlarged such that one could sit on them.

“All right. Come and sit on one of the cushions, so that you're comfortable.”

Rasalas and Brady did as asked, and Theresa quickly followed. “Now. For the first few sessions, I'll have both of you drink a potion. It's to help calm the mind.”

“A calming draught,” Rasalas assumed.

Theresa shook her head. “No. That's a more general potion, which calms the mind, yes, but not quite in the same way as these. It's considered a N.E.W.T. Level potion, though I can certainly give you a copy of the recipe if you'd like to attempt it.”

“Err... yeah. I have a tutor that comes in to teach potions,” said Rasalas.

“You would earn extra points on your O.W.L. exams, should you be able to properly brew it.”

“Like Hermione brewing Polyjuice potion back in second year?”

Theresa arched an eyebrow. “That's almost a master-level potion, Mr. Black.”

“Desperate times called for desperate measures, madam healer,” Rasalas said, “From what Ron and Hermione have shown me, someone—or something... was petrifying students at school. We needed to question someone without them knowing who we really were.”

“Polyjuice potion. What's it do?” Brady asked.

“You put someone's essence into it, and you can quite literally take on their appearance,” said Theresa.

“Someone's 'essence'?”

Rasalas could easily guess where Brady was going, and shook his head. “Uh, no. Not  _that_ kind of essence. Think hair, finger nails... uh.. skin might work... but hair is the easiest thing to get. Bodily fluids don't count.”

That got a brief grin out of Brady, as Theresa passed them each a potion.

“All right. So drink your potions, and we'll get started.”

The session went on for about an hour, and covered a series of exercises aimed at grounding the mind, and getting to a completely relaxed state. Toward the end of it, Rasalas almost nodded off—which Theresa said was perfectly okay. It only meant the exercises were having the intended effect. It was considered an extra benefit of the exercise.

“This would be a good thing to do when I'm trying to get to sleep at night,” said Rasalas, as Theresa collected the cushions.

“Oh, very much so. In fact I suggest that both of you practice at least some of the exercises when you lay down. I'd love to hear whether or not these exercises have any effect on your strange dreams, Mr. Black.”

“I'll let you know.”

“Now. Plan on us working on these exercises again tomorrow, and every day for the interim. When is the best time for you?”

“Any time is fine with me. I won't be going anywhere,” said Rasalas, “As it stands I'll likely need to be here when my classes pick up again next week.”

“Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Theresa, “In the mean time, let's plan to meet again after lunch tomorrow. I'll need to juggle my schedule, but I think I can make that work.”

Once she had left, Rasalas summoned Fawkes.

“Your mum will likely already know, but... she'll want to hear from you. It's one thing that drove me nuts back in September... worrying that my parents would be looking for me, not knowing what happened.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” said Brady, as Rasalas dug in the desk and pulled out a pad of paper along with a pen.

“Don't go into too much detail, but let her know you're all right. Really need to work out being able to travel to the island without Sirius...”

Once Brady had scribbled out a quick note, Rasalas sent it off with Fawkes.

Almost immediately after, Sirius knocked at the door, though it was open.

“Theresa just left,” he said. “Lunch is out, and though neither of you likely feel like eating, you really do need to have at least a little.”

“Yeah, you're right. Err. What is it?”

“Chicken soup. Whatever you said to Kreacher, it's extended to his cooking.”

“Do we trust 'im?” Brady asked.

“Yeah, I think it's safe,” said Rasalas, “Come on. If I have to eat, so do you.”

Since there were only five of them in the house, lunch had been put out on the small table in the kitchen, rather than the dining room. Ryan and Aaron were already present, and Kreacher was already serving them a generous helping each of soup. There was also a platter of sandwiches and crackers, along with a pitcher of juice to go with it.

“Theresa suggested this for lunch,” said Sirius, “And I do remember mother doing something similar for us when I was still welcome at the house.”

“Still welcome?” Brady was confused.

“I became an outcast when I was sorted into Gryffindor,” Sirius explained, “Once mother realized I didn't tow the family line, she threw me out. As was mentioned before, my godson's family became mine, for all intents and purposes. James was my best friend.”

“Explains why you're his godfather.”

“Yes. James all but insisted.”

“I still don't get it... family's supposed to be everything, right?”

“Unless you're a Black, and you don't fit in with their pureblood ideals,” said Sirius, darkly, as he received his serving of soup, “My cousin Andromeda married a Muggleborn named Theodore Tonks. They call him Ted, of course. She was expelled from the family. I'm looking to see if I might be able to undo it.”

“And I mean, you know about my awful relatives,” said Rasalas, “From what Ron tells me anyway... having to rescue me just before second year. They put bars on my bedroom window. I can't remember why, but... what information I can get from the neighbourhood... the neighbours all thought I was a delinquent.”

“Petunia was very jealous of her sister, Rasalas, simply because Lily had been gifted with magic, while Petunia wasn't.”

“Why's that happen?” Brady wondered.

“It's a question we don't know the answer to, Mr. Gibson,” said Sirius, “But most certainly, it can spurn jealousy between siblings.”

“Well, life isn't exactly fffff-fair, is it?” said Ryan, between bites.

“Ryan...”

“What, it's true. So far the only one here who's n-n-n-not had some disaster dropped in his lap is you!”

“Not true,” Aaron snapped, “My parents pretend I don't exist. Seriously. We've been out of the country since the middle of December, and they don't pick up the phone and call and see if I'm okay. Not even a card, never mind a Christmas present!”

“All right, that's enough,” said Sirius.

It was then that Rasalas got another flash memory... Christmas at the Dursleys. He gave out a hollow laugh.

“Getting nothing is better than getting dog treats... or bent wire coat hangers.”

“Seriously?”

Sirius, meanwhile, looked furious. “When was this?”

“I dunno. It was before I would have attended Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione shared memories of Christmases spent there. Though my first year, the Dursleys did send me a fifty-pence piece.”

“Well that's something,” said Aaron.

“Except that Muggle money is no good in the magical world. Not until it's converted. And fifty pence wouldn't get all that much when converted,” said Sirius, “No, that was most certainly meant as an insult.”

“Still better than getting nothing at all,” Aaron challenged, “At least your relatives somehow acknowledged you exist... even if it was loathing or disdain.”

“Your world's fucked up,” said Brady, “What the hell's wrong with people?”

“I dunno, you'll need to ask my Aunt. As I will certainly have a few questions for her when next we meet. Questions that will be asked in the presence of an agent from _Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs(1)_.”

Aaron smirked. “The tax man. 'We've got what it takes to take what you've got.'”

Rasalas smirked right back. “Yeah. One way to make them suffer. Hit them in their coin purse. And that's exactly what I plan to do. Just not sure when. Kate's still collecting evidence with the help of Garokat. I'll see them ruined. That perfect little world they so cherish? I'll bring it all crashing down around their ears.”

Ryan grinned. “Don't meddle in the affairs of w-w-w-wizards.”

Rasalas nodded and grinned right back. “As a few people will find out, yeah. My revenge list has grown by five in the last twenty-four hours. Non-magical targets are easier, but coin is coin.”

Brady listened to the conversation as he ate. How would this have played out without his new friends? Dead, more than likely. He still felt unclean. But a shower would do nothing for what he felt like inside. He reached up, and rubbed the back of his head. His entire world was off-balance, and though the exercises that morning had been of benefit, he still felt... they had taken something from him he knew he could never get back.

How long before the story reached the media? Though he'd not been on camera at any point during the evening, he'd certainly had his picture taken with more than a few people. So it was known by more than a few he was staying in the hotel.

His entire persona, his image, his credibility as an artist... all of it would be destroyed. That was the naked truth. And how open were the criminal trials in the magical world?

All of that still paled to the crushing, overwhelming feeling swirling about his head. A wound had been seared into his very soul. Something that would be with him likely until the day he passed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Harry/Rasalas' school friends return to Hogwarts; Kate at last visits the manor, and plans are discussed to deal with the persons responsible for the attack on Brady; news reaches them of a mass escape of inmates from Azkaban; and Brady's mental state erodes, with potentially lethal consequences..._   
>  _CHAPTER NOTES: I need not say, that sexual assault on men does most certainly happen, though far less than the other way around. I did mention in the beginning of the story, there would be MATURE SUBJECT MATTER._   
>  _I need not say, some difficult times are ahead, as Rasalas and his friends try and help Brady work through this. And of course, the Blacks deal out a bit of revenge on his behalf. I should note, financial consequences will be one of the themes in the story. Sometimes, suffering can be dealt out in a financial manner, as the five ladies responsible for the attack will eventually find out._   
>  _(1)According to Wikipedia: “Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs (HMRC) is a non-ministerial department of the UK Government responsible for the collection of taxes, the payment of some forms of state support, and the administration of other regulatory regimes including the national minimum wage.”_   
>  _The organization was formed in the spring of 2005, merging Inland Revenue with HM Customs and Excise._


	16. The Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry/Rasalas' school friends return to Hogwarts; Kate at last visits the manor, and plans are discussed to deal with the persons responsible for the attack on Brady; news reaches them of a mass escape of inmates from Azkaban; and Brady's mental state erodes, with potentially lethal consequences...

116\. THE BREAKING POINT  
January 1 – 14, 2006

> _“Everyone has a breaking point. Deny it, and you'll blind yourself to know when you've reached yours.”_

  
_\- Dorothy McFalls, The huntress_   


For the next few days, things seemed to go well, with Brady speaking to Theresa for an hour every day. They would then be joined by Rasalas, for the meditation and calming exercises. At the same time, Sirius was working to make it so healers and tutors could make it to Black Island without him needing to ferry them back and forth.

On January 5, everyone finally returned to the island. For now, Theresa had been given a return port key, so she would be able to return home, and get back to the island. She would have to be issued with a new one each trip, but it would work until Sirius found an easier solution. Opening the floo connection was something he really didn't want to do, since it could introduce a vulnerability, no matter how secure the wards were.

While adjustments were made to Rasalas' room, Brady was all but dragged into his mother's room by his brother, and the door shut. It was understandable, his mother was most certainly concerned, and she'd not heard the entire story yet. 'In her shoes,' Rasalas thought, 'I'd want to drag them all to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, to get away from all this rubbish.'

Not that that would matter a whole lot. Against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, there really wasn't a lot of places one could hide... particularly once one had been targeted. And there was still no explanation as to why they were targeted in the first place. Unless... of course. His name-change was most certainly known, and likely had been since Dumbledore's unannounced visit back at the beginning of November. From there, it didn't take a lot of reasoning. There were more than a few pictures floating around on the internet... never mind other media... of Rasalas and Brady together.

It still came back to the simple fact that Brady and his family were in extreme danger as long as Voldemort lived. And this latest, terrible incident was a reminder of how easy it was... what if they had been Death Eaters? And yet—

There came the sound of a door banging against its stop, and angry footsteps coming down the hall, before Corey burst into the room.

“How'd you let this happen?!” he fumed, looking ready to take a swing at Rasalas. Instead, he found himself facing the business end of an elder wand.

“I don't want to stun you, but I will. Now calm down.”

“Explain to me why! How come you didn't—”

“We did, Corey. 'I' did. Whatever they were going to do to him, we prevented it. Yes, it's ugly, but trust me, it's being taken care of.”

“My brother... my big bro's all fucked up...” Corey looked caught between wanting to punch someone, and wanting to just cry.

“Your brother's a strong guy,” said Rasalas, “In his shoes, I'd likely have gone off the deep end. The past few days have shown me a lot about his character. And trust me. I have his back. Just as my godfather does. You guys are under our protection, we take that rather seriously.”

“Not serious enough!”

“What would you like me to do, climb into bed with him?!”

“I... what...” Corey opened his mouth and closed it several times, as he was caught off guard by Rasalas' comment.

“Just trust us. If it's in our power to keep you safe, we'll do it. Right? There were four Aurors within spitting distance, they were on the scene within seconds.”

“Where's the freaks who did this?”

“In jail, where they belong. You're pissed, and you have a right to be. Just trust me, we have it in hand. Brady's gonna get loads of help... and he's gonna need his little brother to keep it together. Agreed?” Rasalas asked, lowering his wand.

“Yeah, agreed.”

“Your mum... how is she coping with it?”

“How d'ya think?!”

“I... no matter what it is, you guys just need to ask, and we'll try and get it,” Rasalas promised.

“Make things how they were.”

“Except for that,” said Rasalas, sadly, “It's one thing we can't fix at this point.”

“Then why aren't 'ya over there, fightin' him?”

“Because he has many followers, and he's a fully-grown wizard with about fifty years of experience on me. How do you think that will play out?”

Corey let out a sigh.

“I ain't bein' fair to you,” he realized, “God, this is so fucked up.”

“You're right in wanting to be angry. I would be too. I mean, Hermione's like a sister to me, and something like this happened to her, I'd be furious too. But being angry at me isn't going to fix it, right?”

* * *

The following morning, just before Theresa began her session with Brady, Auror Jackson sat down with them, and collected both a statement and a pensieve memory. The session that followed ended up taking an extra half-hour, since drawing a memory forced him to relive it.

The mind exercises that followed also proved fruitless, and Rasalas was frustrated to see Brady once again become closed up and guarded. Other occupants of the household tried to cheer him up, but that was met with indifference, or worse. He finally retreated to the bedroom during the mid-afternoon, and did not show up for dinner. Both his brother and his mother then went up to check on him, while everyone else moved into the great room.

“Perhaps it's a good thing most of you will be returning to Hogwarts on Sunday,” said Phil, “This many people around likely won't be helpful for him recovering.”

“But I've read somewhere—”

“Hermione. Books aren't always right,” said Rasalas, “And really. He hates the world right now. He's had part of his soul torn out of him. So last thing he needs is us needling him and trying to get him to join in the fun or whatever you guys were doing earlier.

“He needs family and people he can trust and quiet.”

“Yes, I couldn't agree more,” said Casey, “Though I will be staying here, Phil is returning to the house Sunday as well, since the business opens Monday and he needs to be there.”

“I'll also provide you with a return port key,” Sirius promised.

“Ryan and Aaron will also be remaining here, that's if it's okay with you,” said Casey.

“Perfectly fine. Though I reiterate my godson's words. No chaos. And I expect you both will have something to do, since Rasalas will have classes of his own here.”

“W-w-well, I do want to learn magic, right?”

“I'm reviewing for O.W.L.s, remember? I'm not sure how much time I'll be able to help you... but we'll work something out. Maybe the tutors might be willing.”

“As for my husband and I, we'll be here another two weeks,” said Mrs. Weasley, “He's expected back at work on the twenty-third.”

“Always happy to have you with us, Molly,” said Sirius.

* * *

_January 8, 2006_

It was a bittersweet parting of ways that afternoon, as Hermione and the Weasley children returned to Hogwarts via port key. A teacher would meet them at the gates and escort them up to the castle proper, as the plan went. Bill would then return to the manor via return port key.

“We're definitely working on getting Umbridge solved,” Sirius promised, “Miss Lewis continues to work wonders, so look for something to happen later in the month.”

“And a letter will always find me, guys,” said Rasalas.

“Just put care of S. Black, and it'll get here.”

“All right, nearly time to go,” said Bill, “Let's gather around so no one gets left behind.”

The port key was yet another tin pie plate. Bill held it out, and the kids all grabbed on.

“Good luck guys, see you in June.”

“You too, Harry,” Hermione beamed.

And they were gone in a blur of limbs. Rasalas looked up at the verandah, to see Brady looking down at them. They briefly made eye contact, before Brady pulled back from the railing and disappeared out of view.

* * *

_January 9_

The port key dropped Kate on the lawn in front of the manor. It would be her first visit to the island, though she had been in contact with her clients by owl and fire-call. She hurried inside, but Sirius escorted her upstairs and out onto the verandah.

Both Rasalas and Brady were in comfortable chairs. Rasalas had a book open on a nearby table, with a clipboard and a pencil on his lap. Brady, meanwhile, looked to be asleep, and to Kate, he looked like death warmed over. His hair had started to grow out, and his beard looked unkempt.

“Rasalas.”

“Oh. Kate. I see Sirius finally let you come see us.” Rasalas indicated a free chair—Brady had his feet up in the other.

Kate took the offering, and set her portfolio down. Brady half-opened his eyes briefly, but closed them again, not bothering to acknowledge the newcomer.

“Thought you both might like to see this,” said Kate, as she pulled out a newspaper from her portfolio, and passed it to Rasalas. The paper featured a large picture of Dumbledore, who looked even more ragged and frail than before, looking sadly at him.

_I.C.W. EXPELLS DUMBLEDORE_

_Cites Dishonourable Conduct for Dismissal_

_Johannesburg (AWP): The International Confederation of Wizards have expelled former Supreme Mugwump Albus Dumbledore, citing dishonourable conduct which reflects badly on the international government body, after holding a three-hour debate yesterday._

_The expulsion and revocation of all I.C.W. credentials took effect at 12:01 this morning, with all member nations being informed of this decision at time of publication..._

“Good. He can go to hell,” Rasalas muttered, passing the paper back. “He's still on my shit list.”

“Lot of people on your shit list,” Brady muttered, still not bothering to open his eyes.

“And that brings me to my next bit of news. I've petitioned the judge who will be hearing the case for you to be excluded from testifying in person. I believe the pensieve memory and your statement should be sufficient, along with the testimony and evidence from Rasalas and the Aurors.”

“Good... yeah, that's good,” Brady muttered.

“Theresa gave him a mild sedative and a calming draught,” said Rasalas, “I'll mention this to him again later.”

“How's his mother handling it?”

“Best as she can, I guess. Her son is withering away in front of her. He's... well I mean look.”

Rasalas gestured to the shell of a man half asleep beside him.

“If I had my way, I'd heap every scrap of how he's feeling... what he's feeling... on top of the vile women who did this to him. Have them relive that for the rest of their lives, see how they like it. Of course... a nice dose of the Cruciatus curse—”

“Rasalas! Don't ever think that,” Kate admonished him.

“I know that! Bloody hell, last thing I'd ever do... even if the person deserved it. My parents would be rolling over in their graves if I did something like that.”

He blew out a breath.

“Is it wrong to want them to hurt?”

“No, I don't think so. But doing it, you know you can't. Doing so, you fall to their level, and you know better than that. Just as you know, there are things we can do to make sure justice is properly served.

“I've been speaking with Garokat, and he's been doing a little bit of background digging into the finances of the accused. Two of them come from very wealthy families, while the rest, not so much.”

“What will that get us?”

“Sirius has asked me to do some digging into his family's history, and there's a rather interesting piece of family law that we might be able to use to our advantage.

“Since Brady and his family are under your godfather's protection, it can then be said that the attack against Brady at the beginning of the month was in fact perpetrated against the most ancient and noble house of Black itself. This means... and again, this coming from Garokat... that Sirius can take legal action against the estates of the perpetrators.”

“Sue them, you mean. But... if they don't have any money, we won't get anything from them.”

“You're thinking in non-magical terms, Rasalas. Here in Canada, it's not exactly legal, and quite honestly, the Canadian ministry will most certainly not like it if this is done... but these are laws formulated centuries ago, perhaps before the English Wizengamot came about.”

“What will it mean then?”

“If the suit goes through, and the person is unable to pay, you can then begin proceedings to claim their estate, and if that's not enough, you can quite literally force them to work it off.”

“Slavery. No. That's... God, if Hermione found out I did something like that... I'd never hear the end of it. But taking everything they own? Yeah, I would go for that. See them destroyed financially. Make sure the world knows they're sexual predators—leave Brady's name out of it.”

“Oh, believe me, I'm working to make sure this remains quiet. I have interns at the firm handling that part of the equation. There have been a few close calls, but so far, we've kept a lid on it.”

“What do people think happened? I mean, we were seen at the hotel, in the casino, right?”

“As far as people know, you were all seen getting into a limo early the morning of the first. The five ladies responsible for the attack were seen being escorted from the building around two am, the rumour being they were arrested for drug possession.”

“So if they disappear, not a whole lot will be thought of it.”

“We'll make sure a story appears that covers it.”

“Good. Still floors me that this happened, you know. They looked like... well, they weren't threatening, that's for sure. At the time, I thought, 'good on him,' right? He'd likely not been entertained in such a way since...” Rasalas felt his face get hot, “...I mean, since the beginning of October. It's been a house full of guys.”

“Rasalas. He's a grown man. He made the choice to entertain them. Don't blame yourself for something that is by no means your fault.”

“But... I do. I feel angry for what happened. I can easily substitute him for Hermione, right? I would be just as furious... maybe just a little more... point being, Brady's one of my best friends. Seeing him like this... part of me is dying with him.

“Most of the time he either lays there, or he lays in on his bed, not moving, barely talking to us. Only time he gets up, is to eat or visit the bathroom... and most of the time we have to coax him to come eat.”

He gestured to the plate on the small table, barely touched.

“I don't think he's had a proper shower since before the incident—Theresa has to cast cleaning charms on him—I'm still not comfortable.”

“He's fallen into a depression, Rasalas.”

“As Theresa has already said. She did warn this might happen...”

“But to see it is something else,” Kate finished. “I'm sure she'll have something for it. I know there are potions that can help, but I'm not the healer.”

“I don't know what Theresa has planned at this point, but if things don't improve by the weekend, she'll look at other options.”

Brady let out a snort, and twisted so he was partially on his side.

“She's teaching you Occlumency, am I correct?”

“Yes. We're still working on mind-calming exercises and so on, but that leads to actual—”

“I know,” said Kate, “I've had to take it, as does any solicitor in the magical world. It guarantees privilege.”

“Oh. Never thought of that.”

* * *

  
_January 13_   


Kate was once again at the manor, bringing more news. This time, Sirius was asked to stay, as she produced yet another newspaper. 'MASS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN', the headline screamed.

“Security is being tightened again, and you guys need to know, the floo network is being monitored a little more closely,” Kate warned, “So anything said in a fire-call can be intercepted. So all our business now has to be done in person.”

“Big brother,” Brady muttered, cracking his eyes open a second. He still looked like death warmed over, but his beard was neatly trimmed again.

“Some people might argue that. But we haven't had a problem with a true dark lord or lady on this side of the Atlantic since the middle of the nineteenth century,” said Kate.

Sirius, meanwhile, read over the article.

“Now isn't this something. My crazy cousin's among the escapees, along with her husband and his brother.”

“Some of the most dangerous Death Eaters,” said Kate, “I've already had a look at the records of conviction. Their photos and details are already on file here in case of this very scenario. Expect the Auror protection detail to be at least doubled—I'm surprised it hasn't happened already.”

Just then, there came a blur out on the lawn, revealing a witch of average height. She was headed for the manor.

“I think your herbology tutor just arrived,” said Sirius.

“Ryan!”

There came a thump from the next door down, and Ryan appeared, with Aaron following.

“We've got herbology. D'you mind fetching Corey?”

“I got it.” Aaron went back inside.

“You guys go meet your tutor, we'll keep an eye on Brady,” said Kate. “I may be back at lunch time.”

“Great, thanks.”

Rasalas picked up his books, and with Ryan following, went back inside.

* * *

It was no surprise that Brady suffered from nightmares on many nights, just as Rasalas continued to get strange dreams involving the door into the Department of Mysteries. Most of the time, however, Rasalas was able to gently shake Brady and bring him out of it, get him a drink or a calming draught, and he would fall back to sleep with little consequence.

However, everyone knew he was only getting worse, and Theresa planned on putting him on a magical form of anti-depressant starting on Monday. Betty had already signed consent, given she was his mother. He said very little, and slept most of the time. Theresa guessed he'd lost nearly a stone since the beginning of the month.

So it was, that early on that Saturday morning, Rasalas was awakened by Brady twisting and moaning. Rasalas let out a sad sigh, and crossed the room to once again wake his friend. He'd twisted the blankets around him—of course that would only aggravate whatever it was he was dreaming about.

“Brady. Wake up,” Rasalas whispered, reaching down and touching him on the arm. Instead of waking, Brady recoiled, though he'd been bitten, shrinking away.

“N-no!”

“Brady...” Rasalas tried again, this time reaching for his shoulder.

_WHACK_ ! The punch came out of left field, sending Rasalas crashing to the floor, his head striking the hardwood. If that wasn't enough, Brady had flew out of bed, and came at him, fists flying. Still dazed from the first punch and the impact with the floor, Rasalas could only try and protect his face, ill-prepared for a non-magical fight.

“Your fault! This's your fault!” Brady half-cried, half-yelled, along with more virtually incoherent speech.

'Wand... need wand right now...' he thought, panicked, grappling, flailing, using his other arm to hold Brady off. 'He's gone mad!  _Wand_ !'

_Zip_ . The cool shaft of wood connected with his flailing palm, and Rasalas cast the first spell he could think of—a stinging hex that made Brady yelp. It only stopped him a moment, before he once again charged at Rasalas, hands outstretched.

“S- _Stupefy_!”

Brady collapsed to the floor in a heap in front of him. He could hear thumps and bangs in the rooms around, as people had most certainly heard the commotion. Rasalas touched his wand to his jaw. “ _Episkey_ .”

He let out a hiss, feeling the sore quickly heal itself. His arm would wait... and his head was swimming from the pair of impacts. 'Great. Concussion, no doubt. As if my brain's not had enough trauma recently.'

Rasalas propped his friend up against him, before summoning a calming draught from the cupboard.

“ _Rennervate_.”

Brady's eyes flew open, but before he could say a word, Rasalas said, “Calming draught. Drink it or I stun you again and have you moved to the locked ward at  _Upper Canada Hospital_ . I mean it Brady!”

Brady reached up with a shaking hand, and accepted the offered potion. He sucked it back, grimacing at the awful taste. Rasalas vanished the bottle, then helped his friend sit up. Now, looking into each others' eyes, Brady knew he'd crossed a line. In the dim light of dawn, it wasn't anger he was seeing in Rasalas' eyes, but fear.

“I messed up... 'm sorry.”

“I can't let you continue to do this, Brady. You're killing yourself... you're killing me in the process! And you know... doing this... you let them win. I... I don't know what to do any more. I'm scared... for you. You... you saved my life and now... now you're the one needing saving and I don't have a clue.”

A single tear escaped to roll down his cheek.

“I won't let you destroy yourself. I care for you too much!”

Now, the dam broke, and Rasalas found himself seized in a near-bone-crushing hug, as Brady at last let bear his own emotions.

“It's... it's okay,” Rasalas whispered, “I got your back... I'll always have your back.”

It was then the door burst open and Sirius entered, wand drawn, followed by Ryan and Aaron, as well as Betty and Corey. Rasalas simply looked up, saying, “It's okay. Got it in hand.”

Sirius gave a nod, but levitated both of them off the floor and onto Rasalas' bed. “Probably be a bit more comfortable. Do you need anything?”

“N-no. Thanks, Padfoot.”

“What happened?” Corey dared ask.

“Did somethin' dumb,” Brady whispered back, slightly releasing his grip. Rasalas knew, though, they wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

“All right you lot, let's let them have some space,” said Sirius.

“But...” Corey began.

“C'mon, boy, Brady's in good hands,” said Betty, “We'll talk to 'im later.”

Sirius gently pushed everyone out of the room, then closed the door behind him.

“You want your mother to stay? I can get her to come back.”

“I... no, 's fine,” Brady answered, softly. They separated so they could see each other. “We's both a mess.”

That got a weak grin from Rasalas. “Guess we are. But you, Mr. Gibson, look horribly of death and I would see that corrected.”

“Yeah, guess I am.” He reached up a hand and felt his hair. “Fuck, not let it grow that long in years.”

“You weren't yourself.”

“Still ain't. This ain't okay 'an it prob'ly never will be.”

“But I think it gradually gets better. I dunno, we just have to give it time, right? And lean on me. I'll say it again. You're one of my best friends. Don't know how that happened, but it just is. And anyone else who did what you just did a few minutes ago... needless to say they would have needed a healer.”

“I'm sorry,” Brady apologized.

“Don't worry about it. What I _do_ want from you, is the promise that you'll try and help yourself. Climb off the floor and back on your feet. I want _you_ with me, not a ghost. I want my knight in shining armour back.”

That earned a grin from Brady.

“By the way, your punches really hurt.”

“'course they do, I'm a southern boy.”

“Right.” Rasalas could only grin again. There was some of his personality poking through. “Do I have your word, that you'll pick yourself up? I mean it. I want my friend back.”

“Yeah, my word.”

“Excellent.”

Brady glanced out the window. The sky was gradually getting brighter as sunrise approached.

“Can I get a favour?” he asked.

“Name it.”

“Can we go flying?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll see if—”

“Alone.”

Rasalas gave a nod. “I'll still let Sirius know we're going so he doesn't worry.”

He stood up, and summoned a change of clothes from the wardrobe. He stepped behind the partition in the corner, and quickly dressed. He could hear Brady doing the same, and so waited until he was done before re-emerging.

“Didn' 'ya sleep around a bunch of other boys back at your school?”

“Yeah. All the more reason I like having the partition. Besides, I don't think we're _that_ friendly.”

Rasalas immediately felt his face get very hot, and had to resist laughing, as Brady's face went pink in a few places.

“Oh good Lord, Rasalas. I'm straight as they come,” he finally managed.

“You sure about that?” Rasalas leered, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Fuck off.” It was said with little heat, though, while Rasalas produced his broom.

“Where's yours?”

“I won't need it.”

“Oh.”

* * *

From their room a few minutes later, Ryan and Aaron spotted a single broom shoot off and away from the manor, to then turn and follow the beach.

“Looks like he's gonna be okay,” said Aaron.

“Yeah, m-m-maybe. First life w-w-we've seen in Brady since the new year. Wonder w-w-what happened?”

“They'll tell us when they're ready, right?”

“I think th-th-they have a crush on each other.”

“Yeah. Thinking along the same line,” Aaron agreed. “C'mon, I'm starving.”

“You're always hungry. But y-y-yeah, let's get breakfast. Maybe we can catch up to them after.”

“I think they wanted to go alone.”

“They d-d-d-don't own the airspace,” Ryan smirked.

* * *

They were gone until the sun was well above the horizon, and Rasalas had a gnawing sensation in his stomach. They hadn't had breakfast. The flight felt slightly different than in the past, primarily because Brady seemed to hold on much tighter, with his body pressed against Rasalas'. If he had to admit, it just... felt right... as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Of course, if he really considered it, their lives were so tightly intertwined by this point, both having been the victim and the saviour. There was no way sharing such an experience did not leave its mark, create a powerful bond. No doubt, they would be life-friends at a minimum.

“I'm going to land,” said Rasalas, finally, “It's well after breakfast, and my stomach's taking on a life of its own.”

“Oh. Uh, right.”

Rasalas pointed the broom down, and they landed on the beach.

“Kreacher,” Rasalas called, softly.

_Pop_ . “Master Rasalas call for Kreacher?” the elf croaked out.

“We missed breakfast. Could we get a little something?”

“Of course.” Kreacher again bowed low, and popped away.

“God, you look so different,” said Rasalas, “No piercings, no rings, no chains, no hat... and that mess of hair...”

“I'll be fixin' it in a hurry. Don' feel right, y'know. What happened to my rings an' shit?”

“Should be in your room. The Aurors made sure to collect all of your things from the hotel room.”

“Good. Some of those rings... got sentimental value.”

It was then that Kreacher returned, bringing a platter of food. Rasalas relieved him of it, and set it on the sand.

“Thank you, Kreacher. Please pass a message to Sirius that we're still out, and we'll be back about mid-afternoon.”

“Of course.” Kreacher again bowed low, then popped away.

The platter contained leftovers from breakfast, consisting of pancakes, boiled eggs, and bacon. There was also a small pitcher of juice, and a mug of coffee.

“Please have some.”

“I feel hungry for a change,” said Brady, as he sat down on the sand, and started to fix his coffee. “My bro's gon' be jealous y'know.”

“I wouldn't doubt that,” said Rasalas, “I'm kind of taking his place... not by intention.”

Brady shrugged. “Not your fault.”

“I don't want to get in the way of family. You have your mum and your brother. Your immediate family. I don't even have memories of my parents.”

They fell silent as they ate. Rasalas was more than pleased to see Brady eat more than just a few bites—he cleared his plate for the first time in nearly three weeks. He'd lost a fair chunk of weight... perhaps Theresa might prescribe a nutrient potion.

Then finished, Rasalas again summoned Kreacher to take away the platter.

“Shall we get back in the air?”

* * *

When they touched down on the lawn in front of the manor mid-afternoon, only Sirius seemed to be around. He noted the changed demeanour.

“Feeling better, Mr. Gibson?”

“A little.”

“Theresa wanted me to fire-call her as soon as you guys got back. And you both owe me an explanation as to what happened this morning.”

“He had a bad nightmare,” Rasalas answered, “We got it sorted.”

Sirius frowned. “Which explains the bruises all over your arms.”

“Thought he was tryin' to attack me.”

Sirius only nodded in understanding.

“I scared him bad, he stunned me I think, an' we...”

“Brady, it's fine. Nothing permanent was done.” Rasalas produced his wand, and cast a healing charm on his arm.

“Can 'ya hold off on calling Theresa? I'd like to get cleaned up.”

“How long would you like?”

“Half hour?”

While Rasalas stowed his broom, Brady disappeared into the bathroom. He returned only a few moments later.

“Uh... how'd 'ya trim my beard anyway?”

“Oh. Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, 'course.”

“Sirius actually taught me this one... one of those personal grooming things a wizard needs to know, right? Just... hold still.”

Rasalas drew his wand, and flicked it at Brady's head, and spoke two words... Latin, if Brady was right.

“And done.”

“What... Jesus Christ.” Brady felt the top of his head, and it was as if he'd done it with a straight razor. He'd been shaved bald.

“Now... your beard.” The same word were spoken, and Rasalas then gestured to the mirror over the dresser.

“Thank you.”

“Feeling a little more normal now?”

“A little. Shower'll go a long way though. Oh. My rings an' shit.”

“On the dresser in your room.”

Brady left the room, and returned seconds later with his black cap, and a small box. He then collected a change of clothes from the dresser, and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he re-emerged a half-hour later, he looked almost back to normal. Dark jeans, a dark tank top, chains and piercings all back in place.

“Well?”

“Much better,” Rasalas grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Brady continues to recover from his ordeal; a ride on the broom turns into an impromptu aerial duel between Rasalas and Ryan; more Occlumency lessons; news arrives about a hated Hogwarts professor; Rasalas is summoned to Gringotts to pick up an unusual package; and he then has a most unusual dream, which have ramifications in the future... ___


	17. Destiny Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the final chapter of Act I, Brady continues to recover from his ordeal; a ride on the broom turns into an impromptu aerial duel between Rasalas and Ryan; more Occlumency lessons; news arrives about a hated Hogwarts professor; Rasalas is summoned to Gringotts to pick up an unusual package; and he then has a most unusual dream, which have ramifications in the future..._

117\. DESTINY REVEALED  
January 14 – February 4, 2006

> _“Bottom line: God will not allow any person to keep you from your destiny. They may be bigger, stronger, or more powerful, but God knows how to shift things around and get you to where you're supposed to be.”_

  
_\- Joel Osteen_   


After the incident on the 14 th , Brady began to open up again, no longer missing meals. What had grown into a bit of a tradition, they would go out for a ride on the brooms before or at sunrise, though now it also included Ryan and Aaron. Sometimes, Brady would bring his own broom, but more often than not, he chose to be a passenger. The airspace they could fly in was rather limited, but it didn't seem to dampen the desire to fly.

The closeness between Rasalas and Brady were not missed—both Ryan and Aaron had quickly noticed it a couple of days later.

“Y'know, they do have a term for the kind of relationship you guys have, right?” Aaron smirked, as they flew just out over the water, not far from the manor one afternoon a few days later.

“And that is?” Rasalas questioned, as they slowed down.

“Bromance.”

“A what?”

Brady only rolled his eyes. “Right. We ain't sleepin' together.”

“You want to though,” said Ryan, smirking, “It's written all over your f-f-f-face.”

“Fuck off.”

“Busted,” Aaron grinned.

“'an someone's gonna get whooped unless he shuts 'is mouth.”

Both Aaron and Ryan stuck their tongues out at Brady, then took off like a shot. Brady squeezed Rasalas' waist rather hard, making him yelp.

“Get after 'em!”

Rasalas needed no further prompting, and the chase was on. Honestly though, it wasn't exactly a fair race, considering Rasalas was a far more experienced flier. It took only a matter of seconds before he caught up to them.

“You guys are playing with fire.”

Ryan smirked and drew his wand, while Aaron took over the flying. Rasalas was then forced to dive, as Ryan let fly a string of stinging hexes.

“Take over.”

Brady reached around and took control of the broom, while Rasalas drew both his wands. Now, Aaron was forced to take evasive action, as Rasalas returned fire, one of his hexes missing by inches.

“Immobilus or whatever it is,” Brady suggested.

Rasalas smirked, flicking his elder wand at the targets. “ _Immobilus_ !”

Aaron swerved just in time, while Ryan threw up a shield. Rasalas had to admit, he was impressed. “ _Impedimentia_ !”

Again the spell sailed by, missing by mere inches, as Aaron pressed the broom to go faster. That only caused Brady to also speed up, so the water below looked like a blur. They once again caught up, and Rasalas let fly another string of hexes—all stinging hexes.

“Aaaaah!” Aaron shouted, and it was only Ryan's fast thinking that kept them in the air. They dove sharply and away to the left, before taking off like a shot.

“God, they work well,” Rasalas admitted. “Right. New strategy. Get us over land and into the tree canopy. Quickly.”

Brady turned the broom around and they took off, to only a minute later descend into the copse of trees on the southern side of the manor. They then hovered just at the top of the trees.

“What're we doin'?”

“They'll come back looking for us. I'm gonna take out Aaron... uh... you don't mind getting wet?”

“My boots—”

“Drying charm. Though... between the pair of us we should stay dry anyway. Why don't you get a pair of sandals anyway. I think they'd be hot on the feet.”

“Hey, I like my boots.”

Rasalas gave a shrug. “Well... I can put cushioning charms on them... warming charms... cooling charms...”

“Warming charm would be nice back at the Sawyers' place. 'an maybe the cushioning charm.”

“Remind me when we land. They're all basic charms.”

“Hang on... there they are.” Brady turned the broom so Rasalas could see. He thought for a moment, gauging the distance between them. Aaron and Ryan were still out over the water, so if they fell... it wouldn't hurt.

“All right. Aim straight for them, and go as fast as we can. I'm gonna rest my wand against your neck so they don't see it.”

“May not work...” Brady was already crouching low, making his profile as small as possible. Rasalas was then forced to do the same thing, and instead tucked his wand close... he could still aim, though it would be a little more challenging.

“Ready?”

“Do it.”

The acceleration was nuts, as the broom and its two riders blasted forward. From Aaron's perspective, it looked like a cannon shot, as they came streaking out of the canopy.

“ _Stupefy_!” Rasalas snapped.

So startled by the bullet hurtling toward them at an insane speed, Aaron took the shot square in the chest. He fell ungracefully from the broom, to land in the water about ten feet below. The impact instantly woke him up. He gave Rasalas a rude gesture, before making for shore, a short distance away.

Now, being forced to both steer his broom and use his wand, Ryan was at a serious disadvantage. He was forced to take evasive action to avoid a head-on collision.

“You guys are n-n-nuts!” he shouted.

“Tell me something I don't already know!” Rasalas shouted back, as the two brooms again faced each other.

“ _Stupefy_!”

“ _Protego_!” Ryan countered, and the spell bounced harmlessly against it.

Brady once again pushed the broom forward, and they circled around. “C'mon, Ras. Take 'im out.”

“ _Stupefy_!”

“ _Protego_!”

“ _Bombarda_!”

The spell impacted the shield, but given they were in the air, it actually pushed broom and rider backward about ten feet.

“ _Bombarda_!” Ryan snapped.

The streak of light flew at them, but Brady felt they could escape it by simply turning the broom. Just a bit more—

The impact sent them into a crazy tailspin, and while Brady held on for dear life, Rasalas lost his grip, and fell. Given they were so close to the water, he landed with a noisy splash, and came up sputtering. Grounded, but... if this were a real fight...

“ _Stupefy_!”

“Hey! Not fff-fair!” Ryan shouted.

“And Death Eaters don't play fair either. So you got someone in the air, and someone on the ground! Keep your wits up! Brady! Same thing! What if Ryan's a Death Eater instead of a friend?!”

The fight then lasted only a few minutes. Though Ryan was somewhat impaired due to his injury, he was still able to cast magic. Brady, meanwhile, could only rely on speed and control to keep ahead of the young wizard. They rocketed up and down the beach several times, through the copse of trees, out over the water, circled the manor at least three times, then bolted back out over the water before Ryan at last caught him with a stunner. Brady fell rather ungracefully from the broom, making another noisy splash, his cap becoming dislodged and instantly floating to the surface.

Brady came up a moment later, coughing and sputtering, then found himself pulled through the water by an invisible hook toward the shore. He snagged his cap before it got lost, and jammed it back on his head.

Ryan, meanwhile, flew over to where Rasalas' broom still hovered, and collected it, before heading back to shore and landing.

“Thanks, mate,” said Rasalas, “Uh, just set it down for now.” He was still sitting in the water, with it coming up to just below his chest. He cancelled the summoning charm once Brady was into shallow water—about thirty feet out, as they'd found out. “You guys all did really well. An impromptu aerial combat lesson.”

“Yeah... th-th-that was awesome,” said Ryan.

“Gettin' stunned wasn't fun,” said Brady. He had moved up alongside Rasalas, and sat the same way.

“You're saying it hurt?” Aaron questioned.

“Wakin' up under water did!”

“Oh. Right. But seriously. You guys were brilliant. Just remember that... two of you can't do magic. In a fight, if you lose us... or you're on your own broom... fly as fast as you can as far away from the fight as you can get.”

“I ever get my toys here...” Brady muttered, mostly to himself.

“Non-magical weapons. Non-magical fighting skills. How much do you know?”

“How to fight? Enough.”

“Considering you knocked me for a loop a few days ago. You know a wizard is completely pants without their wand, right?”

Brady looked confused. “Pants?”

Aaron, meanwhile, burst out laughing.

“What?”

“Well first what's it mean?” Brady persisted.

“It means worthless, lousy.”

“Brit-speak,” Aaron giggled.

“Right. So thing is, being able to fight without magic would be a good thing, see.”

“Yeah, I get it. If I teach 'ya, it ain't gonna be no honourable bullshit. I'll teach 'ya how to fight dirty... how to brawl. How to survive.”

“Good. That's what I want. The Death Eaters won't play fair, so why should I?”

Rasalas blew out a breath, then cupped up some water, and splashed his face.

“This was an absolute riot, guys.”

“Yeah, had fun,” Brady agreed, “My poor boots though...”

“Drying charm.”

“Salt's not good for 'em.”

“S-s-s-so why did you wear them so close to the water in the first place?”

Brady shrugged. “Wasn't thinkin'.”

“Yeah, know that feeling,” said Rasalas. “Next time we do this you might consider a pair of trainers instead. Drying charm and a repair charm then. And should we ever share a bed, you're forbidden from wearing them.”

Brady responded by wrapping an arm around Rasalas' neck, and dragging him under the water. That promptly turned into a wrestling match.

“God, th-th-they're nuts over each other,” said Ryan.

“Saved each others' life, what do you expect? And I mean, think about it, 'Ry. Brady's very sexuality's been damaged. He doesn't know what he wants any more. And Ras doesn't know what he is either. At the least, heavy bromance going on.”

He smirked.

“They're having more fun than we are.” Ryan suddenly found himself tackled into the water.

Sometime later, Kreacher appeared on the beach near where they had left the brooms. “Dinner is nearly ready, Master Rasalas.”

Rasalas looked up from where he was sitting in the water, and only then really noticed the sun was about to sink below the tree line in the west.

“Thank you, Kreacher. We'll be in shortly.” The elf bowed and popped away.

“Damn, we've been out here all afternoon... missed lunch too,” Aaron realized.

“But it was wicked fun, I think we all needed to do this. Come on, let's go get cleaned up for dinner,” said Rasalas, standing up.

Brady, too, stood up, the water pouring out of his soaked clothes.

“God... first time bein' dunked off a broom.”

“Yeah, and you want to do it again,” Rasalas grinned, as they waded out of the water and onto the shore. Once clear of the water altogether, Rasalas again drew his wand. “Right. Drying charm.” An uttered word, and Brady found he was instantly dry from head to toe. Another spell and his boots felt as if he'd just bought them.

“Uh... bad idea.”

“Oh. Forgot about that.” The repair charm had made them as though they were brand new, not even broken in. “How about...”

Another uttered word, and now they felt comfortable... as though they fit his feet like a pair of gloves fit his hands.

“And?”

“Much better, yeah.”

“How about us?” Ryan asked.

“Drying charm. Come on, you should know that one.”

“Oh. Right.” It took several tries, before Ryan got it right, and Aaron was dry. He then cast the charm on Rasalas, while Rasalas reciprocated, since it was a little more challenging casting the charm on themselves. Now dried off, Rasalas and Ryan collected their brooms, and the four of them headed back toward the manor.

* * *

The sessions with Theresa became much more productive, with Brady nodding off to sleep on several occasions. Theresa was happy to see this; the lesson inducing sleep was a very good sign. Rasalas had progressed beyond that, of course, now knowing to focus on continuing to calm all thoughts, with the final objective to have his mind void of all thought. He'd been able to do it only twice so far, but once again, Theresa only continued to encourage them.

Brady also began to spend more time away from Rasalas, namely spending it with his brother and mother. They, too, were more than glad his condition had improved. He was gaining his weight back, and no longer looked haunted.

* * *

  
_January 20_

Kate once again visited the manor, bringing yet another newspaper. The top part of it was taken up by an enormous picture of a rather ugly witch being led away from Hogwarts, with magic-suppressing bracelets on her wrists. By all intents and purposes, she resembled a large toad.

_HOGWARTS PROFESSOR ARRESTED ON OVER 70 CHARGES;  
INSTRUMENT OF TORTURE USED ON STUDENTS_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and Hogwarts High Inquisitor Delores Umbridge was arrested yesterday for allegedly bringing an instrument of torture into the school, and then subjecting a number of students to it. Thus far the number of charges have topped 70, and is expected to rise, as victims are being encouraged to step forward. A raid of the High Inquisitor's private quarters at the school uncovered at least ten blood quills, items which are forbidden by the international body, except in the case of signing important binding contracts and other such agreements._

_The arrest was carried out yesterday evening, after educators from the American Department of Magic made a quiet inspection of both Madam Umbridge's classes, and her detentions. It was carried out over four days from the beginning of the week. Madam Umbridge is now being detained in an American Department holding cell, the location being unknown as we went to print._

_An insider close to the minister's office has stated, “The minister had no idea [Madam Umbridge] was using an instrument of torture, and by no means does he condone her actions. She was asked to inspect the school and its instructors, not to bring about pain and suffering to the next generation of witches and wizards; her actions are deplorable and have no place either at the school, or at the ministry._

“ _The minister is consulting his advisors before taking any sort of action, but it should be noted that some sort of action will be taken in reaction to [Madam Umbridge's] questionable conduct.”_

_When asked for a statement regarding the arrest being carried out by Aurors from the American Department of Magic, the insider only said, “We have no comment at this time, as we are still consulting advisers on the matter as a whole.”_

_Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was unavailable for comment, but Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall went on record saying, “The woman was a menace to the school as a whole, enacting terrible decrees and edicts, and we issue a heartfelt thank you to our American counterparts for righting the wrong forced on us by the Ministry. We will be working to undo some of the damage she has caused, with the hope that no lasting harm has been done to our future generation...”_

  
“ No lasting harm? Are they _mad!_? Ron's hand looks like someone took an exacto knife to it!” Rasalas snarled, throwing the paper down. They were again gathered up on the verandah, though now joined by Ryan and Aaron. Aaron was working on grade 11 English, while Ryan studied from a first-year herbology textbook. Brady, meanwhile, had one of his journals out, and was sketching something.

“How long will she get? For usin' the blood quill?” Brady questioned.

“It's five years for each offence. Just possessing one, it can be anywhere between two and ten years,” said Kate, “She'll be lucky if she sees the outside of Azkaban before she passes on.”

Rasalas blew out a breath. “At least she's been stopped. Wicked witch... didn't even last the year. And what Ron told me... we've had a different Dark Arts Defence professor for every year.”

“That's no way to get proper lessons.”

“Ron says our best year was our third. Another friend of dad's, Remus Lupin. But someone let slip he was a werewolf and he was forced to resign.”

Brady furrowed his brows. “Werewolves? Really?”

“I don't remember Remus... but apparently he is one.”

“Perfectly safe, save for the day of the full moon,” Kate explained, “It would be all right for him to visit, as long as he has a special potion the day of the full moon. We treat it like an illness in Canada.”

“If he taught Dark Arts Defence... m-m-m-maybe he might like to tutor us here,” Ryan suggested.

“Wait. A real werewolf,” Brady persisted.

“Exactly as in legend, Mr. Gibson.”

“Not sure whether to be curious or terrified.”

“If he was friends with my dad, he's probably a really cool person. At minimum I do plan on getting into contact. And I like Ryan's suggestion,” said Rasalas. 

He thought for a moment. “Y'know. Hogwarts is said to have some of the most powerful wards in the magical world. They're supposed to be tied to the headmaster, right. So question: how is it that Umbridge managed to get a banned dark object past those wards, without the headmaster knowing?”

“One enemy at a time, Ras,” said Brady. “Dumbledore's a problem, but Voldemort's dangerous, right?”

“True. Still, Kate, can you start pulling some of that kind of thing together? I mean, stuff like the wards... Ron says there's been more than a few examples where I nearly died while in the school. I almost have to think he was testing me or something.”

“I'll farm it off to some interns.”

“Good. It's not a priority.”

“Yes, next piece of business. Your property back in Ontario. You need to sit down with an architect, so we can line up a builder. We could go with a magical contractor, or keep it non-magical, it's up to you.”

“If I hire a magical contractor, how non-magical will the place look?”

“That's up to you.”

“Good. I kind of like Ryan's place. I'd like to do something similar. So my place looks like it belongs there, see.”

“Ah. I see where you're going. And yes, it can most certainly be done.”

“Magical builder... how different?” Brady wondered.

“Magical techniques, and they incorporate magical elements into the building. They will also design things in such a way that electric or electronic devices work without interference.”

“Then it looks like I'm going with a magical builder,” Rasalas decided, “Ryan's parents gave me a new notebook computer and I don't dare open it here because of magical interference.”

“All right. I'll get started on that. If everything works out okay, we should be able to get construction started in the middle of March, or the beginning of April at the latest.”

She then pulled out another stack of parchment from her portfolio.

“Mr. Gibson, you'll be pleased to know you won't be required to attend the trial for your assailants; the statement and pensieve testimony are more than sufficient.”

“When's the trial?”

“Likely early next month. The crown attorney's office is still reviewing all of the case material.”

“Did they make bail?” Rasalas questioned.

“It was outright denied, as is the case in most serious crimes dealt with in a magical court,” Kate explained, “I've been on the short end of such proceedings more often than I would like.”

“Sounds like you don't win very many cases in the magical world,” Aaron guessed.

“Outright in the courtroom, no. Dealing with a client being prosecuted in the magical world, we try and win a lesser sentence.”

“Plea bargain.”

“Yes, exactly, such as what happened with Dumbledore. Depending on the severity of the crime, the crown may agree to lesser charges. Cases involving murder or other serious crimes, it almost always goes to trial.”

“'an the bitches responsible... it's goin' to trial.”

“Yes. Just the charge of attacking a wizard, that sort of sealed it. Non-magical people outnumber us about one hundred to one. So we take it very seriously, as I've mentioned before.”

“I still want them ruined,” said Rasalas, “I don't care what kind of prison sentence they end up with. You don't attack a dear friend of mine and not suffer consequences.”

Aaron smirked. “Beware of Ras.”

* * *

_February 2_

Though Brady continued to improve emotionally, he still certainly had bad days, as Theresa warned he would. His twenty-sixth birthday was one of them. Rasalas had great difficulty just coaxing him out of bed, never mind getting him to eat something.

Knowing it was going to be one of  _those_ days, Rasalas warned everyone he would need extra space, and perhaps to postpone any sort of celebration until the weekend. The others, his mother and brother most of all, were disappointed, but it was known that trying to force matters only made it worse.

Most of the morning, then, was spent on the verandah. The day's classes had been cancelled as it was, with the plan to take a port key to the magical community in Port-au-Prince. With that cancelled, Rasalas resigned himself to staying close. There would be other chances to visit a foreign wizarding community.

After lunch, of which Brady ate only a few bites, Rasalas managed to convince him to go for a broom ride. It was one thing Brady was willing to do, no matter how he was feeling. They were gone until Rasalas could no longer ignore his stomach growling; whether or not Brady was hungry, Rasalas needed to eat.

They again retreated to the verandah, and while Rasalas had something to eat, Brady asked for a beer.

“'ya don't need to stay 'round.”

“No. But I want to,” Rasalas answered, quietly, between bites. “No matter what, I like your company. Even when it's more like hugging a cactus.”

That earned a grin out of Brady, though it only lasted a moment or two.

That was the way they stayed for the rest of the evening. Ryan and Aaron joined them sometime later, as did Corey.

“Y'know one thing we need, is a p-p-p-proper fire pit,” said Ryan.

“Or we just do it down on the beach,” said Aaron.

“No comfortable chairs though.”

“That's what blankets are for. B-b-but we also have magic. We can just make chairs.”

That got a nod from Rasalas. “True. Thing is, Mr. Cactus over here isn't up to moving all that far today. It was a colossal production just getting him out of bed this morning, never mind getting him to eat.”

Corey chuckled. “Good one.”

“Mr. Cactus... that's funny.”

“Well, we could t-t-t-transfigure him into one.”

Brady shot Ryan a glare, while Rasalas shook his head. “That's N.E.W.T. level transfiguration. Over my head still. I mean, I know it's possible. Ron says that Professor McGonagall turned a desk into a pig during our first class with her.”

“Did it... squeal an' everything?” asked Corey.

“I don't know. I don't remember, right? You'll have to ask Ron and Hermione.”

The evening grew late, and eventually, only Rasalas and Brady remained. Rasalas knew he'd once again made a mistake, having far too many beer. He would feel it in the morning—never mind, he was feeling it right then. 'Too young to be drinking that much', he scolded himself.

“C'mon... time for sleep,” Rasalas mumbled, standing. The world threatened to tilt sideways, but he steadied himself.

“Sleep here.”

“No. Bed's better. I'll carry you if I have to,” Rasalas threatened. 

“You in no shape to be carryin' anythin'.”

Brady grabbed Rasalas by the wrist, and pulled, causing Rasalas to fall on top of Brady.

“What in...”

“Not makin' it to bed,” Brady whispered.

“And you're not helpin'.” God, the world was spinning most uncomfortably. “C'mon. This ain't comfortable. Kreacher?”

_Pop_ . “Master call for Kreacher?”

“Help us to bed, please.”

“Of course.”

In a flash, they were both sprawled out on Rasalas' bed, though they still remained dressed. Thank God for small favours. It was weird as it was!

“Uh... not quite what I had in mind,” Rasalas muttered, making to get up—though it was questionable how he would make it to his feet, let alone cross the room. Brady, though, wrapped an arm around his midsection and pulled him back down.

“N-no... i's fine. Sleep.”

Rasalas arched an eyebrow, but let out a sigh. His head felt too big to protest. His best friend. Good grief, what would the others say? The room was spinning... needed sleep... but closing his eyes only made the spinning worse.

“Never... trying... to keep up... with you... again,” he vowed.

* * *

Next thing he knew, there was a knock at the door. His head still felt way too big, and without thinking, he called, “Come in!”

He heard the door open, and footsteps told him someone had entered. The door shut.

“Maybe I should have sent Kreacher,” said Sirius.

“Not so loud,” he heard Brady mutter... from beside him?

Rasalas cracked an eye open, and then realized their current state. Brady was still beside him, an arm slinked across his midsection.

“Though I by no means disapprove, how did this happen?”

“Kreacher,” Rasalas muttered, “I summoned him and asked him to help us to bed. Nutty elf... not quite what I had in mind. D'you mind fetching us a headache-relieving draught and a stomach-calming draught from the cupboard?”

Sirius crossed the room, and collected the requested potions from the cupboard. “Need to replace your supply, kiddo.”

“What time is it?”

“You both missed breakfast. Theresa is waiting, and a letter arrived from Gringotts for you.” He passed over the potions, and waited while Rasalas and Brady took them.

“Much better.”

Rasalas grinned. “God, this was awkward.”

“Anyone else would've got their ass whooped,” Brady promised.

“Aw, come on, Kreacher meant well,” Rasalas smirked.

“Behave, pup. Theresa's waiting.”

“Tell her we'll be along shortly.”

“All right. And I'll have Kreacher put something out for you to eat.”

“Uh, yeah... whatever was breakfast,” Brady agreed.

“Oh. You plan on eating today, then.”

“Fuck off.”

Sirius only grinned, and left the room.

“Crap. If Theresa's waiting... no time for a shower. Think we both smell like a brewery.”

Rasalas produced his wand, and cast a cleaning charm on himself. Then with permission, did the same for Brady.

“'ya don't have to ask.”

“It's a courtesy. And whatever you do... never let someone point their wand at you unless you know them... and even so. It's like someone pointing a gun at you.”

Brady gave a nod. “Yeah, makes sense.”

Rasalas smirked. “You broke the rules by the way.”

“How so?”

“You wore your boots while sleeping in my bed.”

“Blame your crazy house elf.”

While Brady met with Theresa privately, Rasalas opened the letter from Gringotts. It wasn't unusual these days, since he had asked to informed more frequently of affairs concerning his estate. The Potter estate did have a number of ongoing investments, for example. The letter he received, however, was unusual.

  
_Mr. Black,_

_Just yesterday, a package was delivered to our Diagon Alley branch. It was addressed to 'The Peverell heir'. It is unlikely you are aware, but you are that heir, through your father's blood line. Instructions delivered with the package specify that you must visit one of our branches in person in order to collect the item, as the contents are sensitive in nature. An agent or representative is not acceptable._

_Sincerely,_

_Valak,_

_Estates and Inheritances,_

_Gringotts, Diagon Alley Branch_

Well now. The Peverell family. He would have to make a few enquiries about them. But... if there was something at Gringotts from them... it looked like he would need to travel to the bank, perhaps that afternoon. Sirius would have to join him... and come to think of it, it might be a damned good idea. Bill, too, maybe... if he could be pulled away from whatever it was he was doing. Didn't he have a desk job with the bank anyway?

* * *

The trip to Gringotts took less than a half hour, and he made the trip alone—Sirius had a meeting at the ministry, and so could only provide him the transportation there and back. Realizing the bank had already done a cursory scan for dangerous contents, Rasalas decided not to bother Bill with it. Now back at the manor, he carried the package up to his room to open it.

Stepping into the room, he found Brady was at the drawing table, some of his notebooks spread open. That was encouraging.

“Writing?”

“Yeah, a little. Got your package from Gringotts?”

“Yes. I'm about to open it,” said Rasalas, as he set the package on the floor. It was easily two feet cubed, wrapped in brown paper.

“So this' from an ancestor or somethin'.”

“I don't know of them, but yes. Sirius doesn't know, but... I'll have Kate look into it. I would bother Hermione, if she wasn't deep into review for her O.W.L.s.”

Rasalas produced his wand, and vanished the brown paper, revealing an ordinary cardboard box. Not wanting to just drop whatever it was on the floor, he used a cutting charm to cut the seal, and pulled open the flaps.

“What in the world?”

“Woah.”

Rasalas pulled out the contents. Along with a sealed envelope, there was a sphere about the size of a Quaffle (or a little larger than a soccer ball, for those not familiar with Quidditch). It appeared to be made of crystal, obsidian in colour, and save for two ends, it was completely covered in very tiny symbols. As soon as Rasalas set it on the floor, it instantly settled itself to sit upright, with one of the bare spots at the top.

“Thought you went—holy shit. What is that?” Both Ryan and Aaron now stood in the doorway leading out onto the verandah.

“I have no clue,” Rasalas answered, “But this is what was waiting for me at Gringotts. Hang on... maybe the letter will give us an idea.”

Rasalas broke the seal on the envelope, and began to read the letter inside. It proved to be rather short, with rather brief instructions:

_Set the orb on the floor, preferably against a wall, and touch it once with your wand. Access will be provided, and within, more detailed instructions will be found. The features of this device will prove useful to you in the coming days, weeks, months, and perhaps, years._

“Well? What's it say?” asked Brady.

“Confusing, but... well...” 

Rasalas looked around a moment, then picked up the sphere, then set it down on the floor in the corner of the room, and tapped it once with his wand. The sphere shimmered a brilliant blue for a moment, before a pair of glowing lines zipped out from the sphere, along the baseboard, up the wall, then crossed and met, marking out a rectangle on the wall. That then shimmered a yellow shade, before forming into a wooden door that matched the rest of the house. The sphere itself disappeared.

“Bloody hell... No one go near it, I need to make a fire-call.”

He started for the door, then stopped.

“Crap. Sirius is at the ministry for a meeting.”

“Rasalas. If it's from an ancestor... would they really give you something that was dangerous?” Aaron questioned, “Think about it.”

“Well...”

Brady started making chicken noises.

“Really?”

“He did m-m-make a great canary,” said Ryan.

“If this thing kills me, I'm coming back from the dead to personally haunt all of you,” Rasalas promised.

“It's a door, Ras.”

Rasalas huffed, but kept his wand in front of him. He gingerly reached out and gripped the door handle... and when nothing happened, he turned it, and pushed the door open.

His immediate thought, was disappointment. The room had to be eight foot square, with no decoration and plain off-white paint. The wall directly opposite the door had a large fireplace, once again of rather plain decor. Along the left wall, was a single bed, with a large chest at the foot of it. Opposite that, was a table with four chairs. Against the door-side wall, was a shelf with a few books on it, and the table had a set of journals on it. On top of that stack, was another sealed letter.

“Damn. That ball had this in it?” Brady was somewhat impressed.

“It's just a room.”

“'an it wasn't here a second ago now, was it?”

“Brady's got a point,” said Aaron, “Holy shit.”

Wand still gripped tightly in his hand, Rasalas dared enter the non-descript room that had appeared from the sphere. By his sense, it felt incredibly... ordinary. If anything, it felt like it could have come out of an average, non-magical house. The Sawyers', even.

“C'mon, Ras... has to be a r-r-r-reason you got this.”

“There's another note,” said Rasalas, taking a seat at the plain table. He picked up the letter, broke the seal, and began to read silently to himself. The others took up the other seats.

“Bloody hell. This... this sounds fantastic!” he finally said, “All right... everyone stand a sec... gonna try something.”

When everyone stood up, Rasalas seemed to concentrate on something for several seconds—

The entire room seemed to shift right before their eyes, becoming more round, taller, the bland paint and the floor morphing into stonework, the fireplace becoming much larger, more ornate. Red and gold tapestries began to emerge, along with a number of squishy, comfortable couches and chairs before the fire, and the table they had been seated at changed, becoming a bit larger, but much older.

“H-holy flying  _ fuck _ ,” Aaron finally managed.

“Let's s-s-sit, before you fall over, Aaron.”

“Good idea. Oh my god, this... just, wow.”

“W-w-well, you have to admit, magic's pretty cool, huh?”

Brady, meanwhile, looked around the room, still held speechless at what he'd just seen. He'd certainly experienced truly powerful magic in the past few months, but this once again topped it.

“Jesus Christ,” he finally managed.

“So this place c-c-c-can turn into anything,” Ryan guessed.

“According to the letter here. So yeah, now I'm impressed. Can't wait to show this to Hermione. She'll go spare.”

That got a giggle out of Aaron, as they all sat down on the more comfortable couches in front of the fire.

“So question. The fireplace work with the floo network?” Brady wondered.

“Well...”

“There was a fireplace in the room when we came in,” Aaron remembered.

“Look. Th-th-that looks like floo powder,” said Ryan, pointing to the pot hanging at the side of the fireplace. Rasalas went over to it, and reached into it, pulling out a pinch of fine powder.

“We have a floo connection. I'll need to have Sirius set the wards.” Rasalas pointed his wand at the fire, and put it out. “I don't know what kind of wards are on it right now, and I'd rather us not get unwanted visitors.”

“This place is awesome,” said Aaron, “But what else can we do with it? I mean, it has to have a purpose, right?”

“M-m-maybe the journals will tell us more,” Ryan suggested.

“You guys mind giving me a hand?”

 

* * *

Word very quickly spread about the strange room that had been magically added to the manor. The reaction was fairly typical. Sirius was rather impressed, noting it then looked like a close replica of the Gryffindor common room back at Hogwarts. 

Both Casey and Betty were astounded, facing yet another rather blatant display of magic. However, neither stayed all that long, given it was late in the afternoon, and although Kreacher could most certainly see to the evening meal, both mothers wished to maintain some sort of normalcy.

Corey, meanwhile, volunteered to help out with the research. There were at least eight journals present, likely containing information that was relevant to the magical object Rasalas now owned. With an extra pair of eyes, it meant less time needed to comb through it all.

After a break for dinner, they were back at it. As Rasalas discovered in the journal he read, the earliest known record of the object dated back to 400CE. Still, that didn't explain what the place was for. It was truly remarkable magic, but... he already had a roof over his head—several if he really thought about it. His godfather owned a dozen or so properties, as did the Potter estate. He hadn't even looked to see what sort of properties they were, or where they were for that matter. So an extra room?

It was going on three in the morning before they finally gave it up for the night. His eyes were fatigued from so much reading, and he felt physically tired—the previous nights' drinking hadn't helped matters. He felt about ready to collapse, and it was only great effort that saw him undressed and properly under the covers.

Only barely awake, he felt the opposite side of the bed sag, as someone sat down.

“No boots,” Rasalas mumbled, and it was the last thing he remembered before finding the bliss of sleep.

_ The black corridor again. He reached out a hand... almost there. Great anticipation filled his mind, as his hand closed around the door knob, and began to turn it... _

The vision faded. Gone was the door, the black-tiled corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. In fact, the place he found himself in held no shape whatsoever, just a void. Was he still dreaming?

He lay... or floated, maybe, for what seemed like several minutes, before a ghostly shape began to form a short distance away. If he had to guess, the person was female, and, confirmed, as a voice began:

“The world is in grave danger.”

“I... may I ask who you are?” He decided to go with being polite.

“I am the mother Goddess.”

Rasalas was too shocked to respond, and so the avatar continued, “The one you were prophesied to meet one day in final battle... will attempt to gain access to something no one of your world has the rights to. Such action will lead to a catastrophic series of events, events that will have devastating consequences for each and every thing that lives.”

“How? Why? I... this isn't making a whole lot of sense... err... your grace. How—what is he planning to do?”

“He plans to wield the power of Avalon itself, against the very earth it is borne of. Does that make any sense?”

Rasalas thought for a moment. “If Avalon is the well of the earth's magic... I think so. It would be like... short-circuiting a battery... I think. So a massive magical backlash.”

“Very good. And if that should take place, as I have already stated, terrible consequences will be in store.”

The goddess gave a wave of her hand, and a spherical image appeared, of a large aircraft slamming into the ground in an explosion of debris and fire. Another, of Tokyo completely dark, with very few lights. Another, this time another plane crashing.

“The magical backlash will cause a massive magnetic storm that will circle the planet in minutes. The electrical distribution grid will be damaged in many places. And worse still...”

She gestured again, and the spherical image changed, this time showing what appeared to be a nuclear explosion in London.

“Bloody hell...”

“The magical backlash will cause massive geological upheaval, and the earth's crust itself will destabilize. This will impact every living thing of my creation, Harry.”

“But... why are you telling me this? I'm only a man—barely a man, I mean. I should be fifteen, yet I feel I'm going on twenty.”

“Of course. The attack on your person five months ago. You do agree that magic can work in truly wondrous ways, yes?”

“As I continue to learn, yeah.”

“The goblin-made enchantment you were given modified both your appearance and your age, did it not?”

“Yeah.”

“A different sort of magical backlash took place when you were attacked, one of which was the absorption of the enchantment.”

“So not only my appearance but my age are permanent,” Rasalas guessed.

“Yes. Exactly. But we stray from course. You are but one person, yes, but with the right training and the right allies, you can make all the difference in the world. Do you also agree?”

“Well... maybe. But... why me?”

“It was what you were born to do, Harry.”

“Says who? My parents were the heroes, not me.”

“And yes, you did vanquish Tom Riddle over fourteen years ago. But there is more you must do, if the world... my creation and all its children... are to survive.”

“But... I mean...”

“With the exception of a few—such as Ryan and his mother—the people have forgotten my name, forgotten my face, have become deaf to my voice. With your help, the world will once again know me, and perhaps we shall restore the balance your world so desperately needs.”

“What... what do I need to do? What can I do? I say it again, I'm just one man. How will you help me?”

“Knowledge, and training. Though you will not learn directly from me, for that would be forbidden. Instead, you will receive lessons from those who follow me. Getting there, I'm afraid, will not be easy. However, I trust you will find a way, and I will provide you with ample clues. I know you have a number of strong allies already gathered around you, and they will most certainly help you get there.”

“I'm still confused as to why... you can't just... well...”

“Just doing as much as I do now, I overstep. _All_ of you are my children, and a parent cannot be seen playing favourites; doing so upsets the balance. It is no different than the sort of damage Tom Riddle threatens to cause, attempting to access and wield power he has no right to. Does that make any sense?”

“Uh, sort of.”

“It's all about maintaining the balance. Tom Riddle presents perhaps one of the most dire threats in over a thousand years, and he _must_ be stopped.”

Now, Rasalas understood where the Great Mother was coming from.

“Very well. I will become your champion,” said Rasalas, bowing his head. 

There came a blinding flash, with her fading voice, “Good luck, Mr. Black!”

__

# _END OF ACT I_

* * *

> _“The only way that we can live, is if we grow. The only way that we can grow is if we change. The only way that we can change is if we learn. The only way we can learn is if we are exposed. And the only way that we can become exposed is if we throw ourselves out into the open. Do it. Throw yourself.”_

  
_\- C. JoyBell C._   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _CHAPTER NOTES: So Harry gets his marching orders. The question now, what does this 'chamber' have to do with it? And of course, now we also understand why Harry's not quite a teenager any more. Yeah, magical backlash can have some interesting effects sometimes. And why is Brady acting strangely?_
> 
> _We now move into the second act, titled, “Growth”, in which we see Harry and his allies grow spiritually, physically in some cases, magical in others, and most definitely, for Harry, politically. New allies will be met, as will new enemies. Triumphs and tragedy will follow on a number of fronts, culminating in another showdown at the ministry, and a segway into Act 3._


	18. Fury of the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _News is received about Brady's attackers; Rasalas/Harry makes progress learning Occlumency; and Rasalas/Harry and his new friends learn a few important things about the artefact he's inherited—mostly through research, but one through a catastrophic event._

ACT II: GROWTH

  


>   
> _“Growth demands a temporary surrender of security. It may mean giving up familiar but limiting patterns, safe but unrewarding work, values no longer believed in, and relationships that have lost their meaning.”_   
> 

  
_\- John C. Maxwell_   


* * *

201\. FURY OF THE EARTH  
February 3 – March 24, 2006  


>   
> _“God's interventions are miracles: events that cannot happen by merely natural agents but only by a supernatural agent. They no more interfere with our free will than natural events like earthquakes. We choose how to respond to them.”_   
> 

  
_\- Peter Kreeft_   


The orb and its magical chamber became a massive distraction. Rasalas found it very difficult to focus on his classes, as they tried to work out what the room was truly capable of. He'd made a very quick decision to for now keep his very odd dream to himself, given his more frequent experience with odd dreams and visions.

However, he now knew what he had to do, what was expected of him. Somehow, the orb and its extraordinary room had something to do with it, that's what his gut said.

It was February 8 when they made the first major discovery. Rasalas stepped into the magical room after his last lesson of the day, to find both Aaron and Ryan, looking rather excited.

“Ras... y-y-you got here just in time. Look at what Aaron f-f-f-found.”

Ryan gestured to the open journal on the table. Rasalas picked it up.

“ _Collecting the control orb,_ ” Rasalas read, “ _To pick up the control orb, tap the door or access hatch created by the orb three times with your wand or other such item you use as a focus. After each tap, make a circular motion with your focus or wand, thinking or intoning, 'Retract'. This will dispel the door or hatch, and return the control orb._ ”

“Sounds easy enough,” said Ryan.

“Oh. Better still. Collecting the orb, while retaining the created access door or hatch...” Rasalas read the passage to himself.

“Well?”

“Almost identical, except that the wand motion is an upward flick after each tap... oh... now this is interesting.”

Rasalas produced his wand, and flicked it at the door. “ _Geminio_ .”

There came a light clunk, as another obsidian-coloured orb dropped to the floor in the doorway. Almost immediately after, there was a second clunk, as a red-coloured orb dropped beside it.

“Geminio?” asked Ryan.

“Duplication spell. It usually only produces useless copies of stuff, but in this case, it's a command to the room. The two orbs it just produced, they make a matching set of doors. The red one gets set up here, and the black-coloured one gets set up... well... wherever we want it.”

“Then we can p-p-p-put a door at my place, so Ma can c-c-come and go.”

“After. I think we need Bill to come have a look first. We put a door at your place and this isn't secure, it... you get where I'm going,” said Rasalas. “I'm not saying 'no', I just want to make sure we're not doing something foolish.”

It was after dinner before Bill was able to visit the manor. After Rasalas demonstrated being able to change the room, the curse breaker quickly understood what he was seeing.

“There's a room at Hogwarts that works like this,” he said, “The Room of Requirement. Though, once you close the door with it empty, it resets.”

“How common is shit like this?” asked Corey. Both he and his brother had spent the afternoon with their mother, and so only now were learning of the new development.

“Somewhat rare, actually, and it's a real shame. All of you have to remember, this is truly advanced magic. Whoever made it was a very skilled witch or wizard. And perhaps it was enchanted by more than one person,” Bill explained, “Dimensional pockets are pretty advanced in themselves, but to pull off something like this, it's above and beyond that yet again. This is the realm of the Department of Mysteries.”

“So our next quandary. How durable are the doors into this place? And what kind of wards does it have—how durable is the place as a whole?”

“Ah. I see what you're getting at. I'll need all of you to step outside before I start those sorts of tests. And I might suggest taking anything out that you don't want to lose. If this blows up...”

“Right.”

The tests ate away a good part of the evening, while Bill poked and prodded at the wards (figuratively, of course), the floo connection, and the entrance to the room itself. With Rasalas' help, it was determined that the room and the door leading into it were by all intents and purposes, indestructible. Bill had resorted to using some rather questionable spells toward the end, all of them not leaving a mark on the entrance.

It was also learned that, when locked, only the person who locked it or the orb's owner could unlock it.

“Rasalas, you could put a door wherever you like, I think,” said Bill, “However, I would encourage you to make sure some sort of security exists on the other end, just to be extra-cautious.”

Brady scowled. “So no we we's puttin' a door at my place.”

“No. C'mon, you know it wouldn't be safe.”

Now sure the connection wouldn't compromise security, Rasalas set up the door in the magical room. Bill was more than curious to see how it would actually work, and so had stuck around.

Rasalas then had his godfather produce a port key back to the Sawyers. Once back at the house, he then placed the mate to the door in his assigned room, though it took him a minute or so to free up some wall space. Then, the moment of truth. He turned the door handle, and pulled it open.

“That's freakin' awesome!” Ryan exclaimed, “Where d-d-did you put the... well, the mate?”

“In my room for now. We can move it later, right?”

“Still, Ma's gonna be g-g-glad, right?”

Rasalas couldn't help but grin. “No doubt there. Well? You wanna tell her, or shall I?”

“N-n-no, it's good, I'll go find her.” Ryan was gone through the door that accessed the manor.

“So, uh, y'could put one of those door things back where you come from,” Corey guessed.

“I would think Rasalas could put doors in a number of locations, and they'd all work about the same,” said Bill.

Aaron couldn't help but smirk. “Gonna need to put clocks above the doors then. Don't wanna drop in on someone at the wrong hour.”

“We'll worry about that later... though it's a good idea,” Rasalas decided.

It was then Ryan returned with his mother in tow. She immediately noticed the new door, and the shock was more than apparent.

“Good grief.”

“It should make things easier for you to come and go, Mrs. Sawyer,” said Rasalas, “It's something we learned earlier, but I wanted Bill to be sure it was safe first.”

“I see. My word.” She stepped through, to stand in Rasalas' room back at the house, but turned around. “This is astounding!”

“I somehow think we've only seen a small slice of it,” said Rasalas.

* * *

With a connection established back to the Sawyers, Betty decided she liked the normalcy that came with the nearly-non-magical home, and so moved into the room that had been used by Sirius. Given that Phil spent most of the day in the shop, Casey welcomed the company.

The connection also meant that the Aurors providing security at the manor could also come and go as needed, rather than Sirius providing them with port keys. It did mean less privacy, but given Brady rarely slept on his side of the room anymore, it was just a matter of putting up a privacy screen. Of course, they could have put the door somewhere else in the house, but at this point, it was a matter of convenience.

Rasalas, meanwhile, saw yet another change to his daily activities, as Sirius began to teach him how to Apparate, and how to make port keys. This typically took place immediately following his Occlumency lesson, since having a clear mind improved the chance of success when it came to Apparition.

* * *

_February 15_

Kate found Rasalas mid-afternoon, just after his Charms tutor left.

“Where is Mr. Gibson? I have some news.”

“He's with his brother helping Mr. Sawyer in the shop.”

“Oh. Well... I need to see him. It's about the trial.”

Rasalas was immediately worried. “What happened?”

“Oh nothing to worry about. Five convictions. They're going to Azkaban for a long time. Fifty years each, when the various sentences are added up.”

“Good. Good, Brady will be glad to hear that I think. Thank you for all your work.”

“How is he as of late?”

“Almost back to his old self, I think. So this piece of news should help even further. Though... even with the convictions, I still want to see them ruined.”

“The convictions will most definitely help with the civil case. Though it may be a challenge to get your family laws put into practice here. And from what I'm able to gather from English records, it's been a long time since the sort of punitive action has been taken there. At least two hundred years.”

“But not impossible.”

“No, just very difficult. It'll take a bit of luck, and a sympathetic judge.”

“Hmm... I'll probably curse myself for making this suggestion later... but... play the _Boy-who-lived_ card. Remind people who I am, what I represent.”

Kate gave a nod. “That may get you something indeed. Just be aware, that sort of thing could come back to haunt you.”

“I know. I made a promise to a friend though, and I want to see it fulfilled.”

“You really care for him.”

“He sleeps with me most of the time y'know. God, it's weird, I know, but...”

“Do you—”

“Oh _hell_ no!” Rasalas felt his face get very hot, and knew it had gone beet red. He sucked in a breath trying to tame his now wildly thumping chest. “Good God, I think if I suggested that kind of thing, he'd clobber me.”

“Ah, of course. I didn't mean to pry.”

“Our friendship is... complicated,” Rasalas confessed, “Forged by a series of disasters I guess.”

“This is true. Now I'm sure Theresa has likely raised the question, but what happens when he's able to travel again?”

“We'll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Rasalas answered, “And quite honestly, it's not gonna be any time soon. I know his record label's been calling, but... really. I have no hope of taking on Voldemort right now... likely not even in the next year.

“Brady knows he's gonna be here for a while... just like his mum and his brother. Practically refugees here.”

“That makes a lot of sense. And yet it won't be all that healthy for you all to be confined here, I need not point that out, right?”

“Lots of discussions ongoing with Auror Jackson. Even once my house is finished, it doesn't expand things all that much. And I know Brady's itching to get back on his bike. He says he'd still be out on it if he were home.”

“Yes, considering it doesn't get all that cold where he's from,” Kate remembered.

She then noticed the opened envelope on the table beside Rasalas' chair. He caught her glance.

“Hermione sent me a letter. Seems Dumbledore still can't get things right, and the ministry appointed another lackey to teach Dark Arts Defence—Ron's older brother Percy.”

“Rasalas. At least your friends aren't being tortured.”

“They may all fail their Dark Arts Defence O.W.L.! Never mind seventh years who need to pass their N.E.W.T.s!” Rasalas sucked in a breath. “God, just at a loss as to what to do.”

“To be honest, I don't know what to tell you. At this point, we don't have any sort of legal recourse.”

“It's substandard teaching!”

“And you'll agree, there are plenty of problems with the teaching at Hogwarts as a whole, am I right?”

“Yeah, this is true.”

“Legally, there isn't anything we can do. They aren't doing anything illegal, and even if so, if it doesn't violate any international laws, we don't have any leverage.”

* * *

_February 24_

With the manor now being connected to the Sawyers, and Rasalas' review schedule becoming tighter, research into the capabilities of the orb had become somewhat slower. However, progress was still made, and this time it was Ryan who discovered the next piece of the puzzle.

_Permitting others to control the chamber_

_Caution should be used when granting one such rights, as the individual will have all of the same powers of the owner, with only a few restrictions—the owner will always have final authority, and his access can never be revoked._

_To grant another person authority over the chamber, have him stand before the primary entrance into the chamber, and have him place a hand on the door. With the left hand placed on his head, place your right hand on the door beside his, speaking, '_ _imperium permiserit'._

“Sounds simple enough,” said Rasalas, as he finished reading. “Since you discovered it... and if you don't mind... I'll give you control rights and you can try it out.”

“Y-y-you sure? I mean... I don't want to screw it up.”

“Ryan. I trust you. You guys have been really cool with me staying with you, right?”

They both stepped over to the door which led back into the manor. Rasalas pushed it closed, and Ryan put his right hand on the door, while Rasalas then put his left hand on his head, according to the instructions. He then placed his right hand on the door beside Ryan's, and spoke “ _Imperium Permiserit_ ”.

There came a purple flash of light, and Ryan felt a warm tingle surge from head to toe.

“Well? Give it a try,” Rasalas encouraged him, “Keep it simple for now.”

Ryan shut his eyes for a moment, and suddenly, the tapestries became a powder-blue shade.

“Excellent. That can be a useful thing.”

“I'll ask before I do anything,” Ryan promised, “L-l-last thing we want is everything to blow up b-b-becuase we got carried away.”

“Yeah, anything big, let me know first.”

“So does it tell how to take them rights away again?” Corey asked. As had become a typical evening, it was the younger crowd gathered in the magical room, with the rest of the house gathered elsewhere, typically in the great room, or up on the verandah. Late February still meant cold in Southern Ontario, and both the Sawyers more than appreciated the ability to escape it, without forking out a small fortune.

“Uh... yeah. It's an identical... well... ritual, except the incantation. 'iura revocare'. Huh... isn't that interesting. It says, 'he does not have to be conscious for this to be done'.”

“Expectin' trouble,” said Brady, “In case whoever it is ain't cooperatin'.”

“Exactly. Oh. And it also says that access is also revoked should the person become deceased.”

“Thank-you, _Captain Obvious_ ,” Aaron snorted.

“Actually... not as obvious as you might think,” said Rasalas, “Ghosts most definitely exist, and I can ask Sirius if you doubt it; he can back it up with pensieve memories.”

Brady looked at him funny. “Seriously?”

“I swear it.”

“Why'd someone want to?”

“You'll have to ask them. I guess... some people choose to. But I don't know the answer.”

“And you?” Corey asked.

“What... remain as a ghost? No. I'd rather pass on. Greet my parents in the afterlife. And to be honest, I hope it's a long time before I do.”

“B-b-but we really don't get that choice,” said Ryan, “It's up to the Goddess...”

“Or God,” said Corey.

Rasalas gave a nod. “A question we'll know the answer to when we do pass on, right?”

* * *

March 1 brought about another major milestone for Rasalas, as he was at last able to completely block out all thought, to completely quiet the mind. Theresa was more than pleased with the news, and was then able to begin teaching him about Occlumency itself. Given she was an adept practitioner of the art herself, she was able to enter Rasalas' mind, and teach from that perspective, instead of trying to explain it by word alone.

At first, Rasalas wasn't comfortable with the idea of someone else being in his head, but he quickly found her approach to be gentle. It was nothing like the uncomfortable sensations he had to deal with from his nightmares or visions. That said, it only took a few minutes for him to grow accustomed to the additional voice in his head.

“The thing about Occlumency that you have to grasp, is that you are in control of your own head, your own thoughts. Now this will likely sound a little callous, but your brain injury will actually prove to be a potentially useful defence,” Theresa explained.

Since his eyes were closed, Rasalas projected a mental frown. “In what way?”

“Such fractured, disjointed fragments of memories, will confuse a legilimens, no matter how powerful they might be. Sure, if given enough time, they will be able to sort through it and make a bit of sense, but in that time, you will have a chance to push them out.

“I want you to try and... for the lack of a better word... feel me out. Where am I in your subconscious mind? This is one of the most important things you must learn how to do, Rasalas.”

The lesson ended in frustration, for, as hard as Rasalas tried, he couldn't figure out exactly where Theresa was hiding. They finally called an end to the lesson, as Theresa did need to have lunch before seeing her next client back in Toronto. Of course, that also meant lunch for Rasalas, and as had become the normal occurrence, he joined his peers (or near-peers, considering Brady was twenty-six) out on the verandah. Lessons typically took place in the magic room, which Rasalas had began calling the  _sanctuary_ —it just made sense. 

Herbology was then being practised in the newly-created greenhouse, one of Ryan's creations. His mother was excited to have access to fresh vegetables and herbs year-around.

Potions lessons, meanwhile, took place in the recently-created potions lab. With input from the tutor, it had been very easy to create what she called the ultimate workspace. It still needed to be stocked with ingredients and materials, but physically, the room was perfect for its purpose.

Rasalas took a seat at the table, noting that Brady had a couple of his notebooks stacked off to the side at his place.

“Working on new stuff?”

“Yeah, somethin' like that.”

“Good. Glad to hear—thank you, Kreacher,” said Rasalas, as the elf put a plate in front of him.

“Kreacher lives to serve, young master,” He popped away.

“God, he's like night and day, Ras,” said Aaron, “Between Corey sending him flying, and you telling him the facts of life...”

“Yeah, Sirius said something along the same line.”

“Sometimes all someone really needs is a boot up 'is ass,” said Brady.

“Or a stinging hex to the n-n-n-nut sack...”

Aaron looked at him and gulped, while there was a round of throat-clearing.

“Think my balls just climbed up in my groin... Good lord...” Corey muttered.

“An somethin' tells me 'ya got a list of people you're wantin' to try it on,” Brady followed.

“Oh yeah. Only thing that prevents it is the Statute of Ssss-secrecy. But... then again. We do have something called a t-t-t-taser.”

“What's a taser?” Rasalas questioned.

“Cops have them,” said Brady, “Gives out a real bad electric shock.”

“Think ten thousand volts or something like,” said Aaron, “Fucks someone up really good... non-lethal force, right? Though there's a bunch of people out there saying the police shouldn't be allowed to use them.”

“A stinging hex would be mild compared to that,” said Rasalas, “It hurts, but it's a nuisance. This 'taser' or whatever it is... it sounds dangerous. I mean, what if they hit Ryan with it? He's already been messed up by electricity. Or if someone's old.

“A stunner, the guy's down. No harm to the body, just knocked out until he wakes up naturally, or is revived. God... a device that can purposely shock someone though... that freaks me out.”

“Pepper spray... another weapon the cops have now,” said Corey, “They shoot it in your eyes, burns like hell.”

“That one makes a little more sense... still can't believe they'd purposely shock people though,” said Rasalas, “Curious... have there been deaths because of it?”

“From a taser? Yeah, a few. I think one guy in Vancouver died from a heart attack brought on by it,” said Aaron.

“How d-d-did Occlumency go?” Ryan asked, wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Not bad. I got my mind to a blank state for the first time, so we're able to move on with actual Occlumency now.”

“M-m-maybe I should learn it too.”

“Well, ask her. Given you're a friend, you will eventually attract attention from Voldemort. So I'd almost insist you learn.”

Rasalas thought for a moment.

“You know your schooling will likely take a back seat now.”

“Yeah, kind of guessed that, Ras. Even working through correspondence, it's b-b-become hard to concentrate.”

“I know that feeling too well. My tutors scold me several times in every lesson, I can't stop thinking of the sanctuary and what it can do.”

“Gotta wonder what the limits are,” said Aaron.

“Well, Bill said the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts is infinitely flexible.”

“So we could make it stretch for miles,” said Brady.

“Theoretically.”

“Why not find out?”

“Got something in mind?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I'll give you control rights then. But don't change the room we have. Just add another... and I think we'll need to change the layout a bit. A parlour maybe.”

“What if we copied the manor?” Corey suggested.

“No. I'd rather the sanctuary be a little more personal... a little different. I like the common room though... it feels, I dunno, familiar, maybe?” He gave a smirk. “Good thing I have the afternoon off.”

* * *

March 19 marked the first live steam day for the steam club. Given the unplanned events and incidents over the past few months, everything had been put on hold, much to the disappointment of the membership.

However, with warmer weather arriving, and with no recent reports of Death Eater activity, the Auror protection detail saw no reason for the event not to go ahead. Ryan once again acted like a kid at Christmas, once again able to put the enormous scale-model Y-6-b locomotive in steam, with his close friends helping to wake it up from its winter slumber.

Sirius, not having seen the enormous model before, was fascinated, and equally impressed, seeing his godson take the throttle. He'd certainly seen more than a few pictures of Rasalas driving, but it was just a bit more impressive to see it for real.

Corey was also rather surprised, seeing his brother take the throttle. The boys could drive just about anything, but a train... this was something new. Scale model or not, it was a different skill set.

The afternoon proved to be very busy, it being the last day of March Break. If they had to guess, nearly five hundred people had visited the track and rode the five scale-model trains that were running, including the Sawyers' Y-6-b(1).

In addition, it was only natural that a few people recognized Brady, and so ended up getting pictures with him—the favourite being with the locomotive. Him driving was an additional hit, with more than a few videos being shot. How many of those would end up on that new video-sharing website...  _YouTube_ ... was it?(2)

At the end of the day, everyone was in agreement that it had been a very successful day, and a step back toward some sense of normalcy, with everything that had happened over the winter. Though, Rasalas was very quick to point out, “With us around? There's no such thing as normal.”

* * *

_Early hours, March 24_

It had been another rather late night, as they continued to explore the number of journals and texts that had been included with the sanctuary. Rasalas had not joined them until later, having a potions paper due the following day, and so spent the time immediately following dinner completing it.

Now, as it neared 2 in the morning, Rasalas was just getting to sleep, having taken the time to practice his calming exercises—a habit he'd gotten into with the encouragement of Theresa. It seemed to lessen the frequency of dreams involving the door at the Department of Mysteries, and all in all, give him a better sleep.

Brady was once again asleep on the opposite side of the bed—Rasalas had cast an enlargement charm on it, so they had more space, meaning they weren't constantly crushed up against one another. It was good to see him sleeping well again; the past few months had really tested his sanity... being violated so would test anyone.

Back to the point of the story, Rasalas was just finding the bliss of sleep, when he found himself quite violently thrown across the room. At first, Rasalas thought that Brady had gone off on him for some reason... but no, that didn't make a whole lot of sense! The entire room was being shaken violently, and crashes coming from other parts of the manor told him it was by no means just a local thing.

He found himself hauled off the bed and onto the floor.

“Earthquake... it's... it's an earthquake,” Brady managed to say, “Where's your wand?”

“Got it.”

As the shaking continued, they could hear pieces of the ceiling begin to crumble and rain on the floor—the glass finally shattered in the windows.

“Jesus fuck... place is gon' come down on top of us.”

“Into the chamber... c'mon, we should be safe in there.”

They scrambled across the floor, with Rasalas having to banish some of the debris as they went—Brady had nearly been struck by a large piece of plaster—they reached the door, and Rasalas wrenched it open.

“That's fucked up.”

“C'mon, inside.”

True to Rasalas' guess, the sanctuary was unaffected by the shaking.

“You hurt?”

“No. Startled... just... never felt anything like that before, not that I remember anyway. Here... let me see your arm.”

Rasalas had noticed the deep cut on Brady's right forearm. He touched it with his wand. “ _Episkey_ .”

“Thank you.”

“God... need to make a fire-call, get Theresa here.” 

He glanced back at the door just in time to see the ceiling in the bedroom collapse, sending up a cloud of dust. His heart sank, knowing just about everyone else had only recently gone to bed as well. Would it be a rescue, or a recovery?

It took nearly a minute before the shaking stopped.

“Stay here a moment. Let me clear some of the debris, find us clothes and my broom. Gonna need your help.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Rasalas carefully stepped back into the shattered room, only to have to bolt back into the sanctuary again, as there came a God-awful crash. A plume of dust billowed into the room, until he slammed the door closed.

“I... my brother...”

“My godfather, Brady! I know! Just... gotta think a second. Your mum's back at the Sawyers... but...” Rasalas closed his eyes a minute, then opened them. “Kreacher?”

_Pop_ . “Little master call for Kreacher?” the elf asked. It looked like he'd been asleep, likely back at the townhouse in London.

“Can you locate Sirius? We... we think the manor collapsed. Find him and bring him here.”

Kreacher seemed to think a moment, before popping away.

“Brady... fire-call Upper Canada Hospital and have them send us a healer. I can count on us needing one.”

Kreacher returned, bringing an unconscious Sirius along.

“Master is needing a healer at once, young master.”

“We're working on it. Can you help us find the others?”

“Of course.”

Brady, meanwhile, was kneeling in front of the grate, his head stuck in the fire. It had taken him some time to get used to the concept, but by this point, it was just a common practice. Though honestly, he missed just using his mobile.

Rasalas was kneeling at Sirius' side.

“Where was he?”

“Asleep, young master.”

“All right. In the potions lab, in the cabinet, we should have a number of pain-relieving potions. We'll need them. Would you fetch them?”

“Of course.” Kreacher popped away.

Rasalas quickly banished Sirius' shirt, checking him for injuries. It looked like something had struck him in the chest—part of the ceiling, more than likely. And his left leg looked wrong. He was alive, but badly hurt, this much was evident. Over and above the nasty cut Brady had suffered. God, it was only luck that's all they'd suffered, all considering.

Where were Ryan and Aaron? And what about Corey? They would have just gone to bed as well. He wouldn't dare ask Kreacher to go look for them, considering what Corey had done to him. The elf would sooner leave the man to die.

Brady pulled his head back out of the fire, and the flames returned to their normal colours.

“They's sendin' a healer.”

“Good. Kreacher's looking for pain-relieving potions, but... we need to get our act together. I need to locate my broom and some clothes. Stay here. If I'm not back—”

Kreacher returned from the potions lab, bringing a number of vials. That coincided with the fire in the fireplace roaring to a brillinat green, expelling a pair of witches wearing lime-green robes.

“What happened, Mr. Black?” questioned one.

“We think the house collapsed, madam healer,” answered Rasalas, “My... well... Sirius has been injured.” He indicated his godfather's prone form. “I asked Kreacher here to fetch pain-relieving potions from our stores, but...”

“We'll take it from here,” said the second healer, “Is there anyone else in the house?”

“Three others. We're about to start searching now. Uh... Brady, wait here a second.”

Rasalas pulled the door open, and vanished the cloud of dust. God, what a mess... the room was unrecognizable, with the entire floor having pancaked on top of the floor below.

“ _Accio_ firebolt,” he called out.

It took nearly twenty seconds, before his broom zoomed into his hand. One of the stirrups was slightly bent, and it was covered in nicks and scratches, but was otherwise okay. It would still fly. He lay it against the wall, then cautiously stepped into the shattered remains of the bedroom.

“Brady, get on the broom and come out.”

Seconds later, they were in the air, and out of the wrecked manor thanks to a gaping hole where the ceiling used to be.

“Looks like a bomb hit it,” Brady remarked.

“No kidding. C'mon, looks like the Auror detail are working to clear wreckage.”

They could see the three wizards and one witch at work, banishing pieces of the wreckage.

“I'm gonna start vanishing parts of the roof, since everyone was in their rooms. I'll need you to fly the broom for me.”

“Not like we ain't done this before, Ras.”

They flew closer, with Brady controlling the broom, while Rasalas began to vanish the debris that had been the roof. Knowing the floor plan, he was able to guess where he would likely find people, and so began with what would have been the room across the hall from his.

Sure enough, after about ten minutes of spell-work, he'd cleared the shattered roof and remnants of the ceiling to reach Ryan and Aaron's room. The walls had also fell in, but a sudden blast of red magic sent the pieces flying. And then the broken bed also went flying.

“Rasalas!?”

“Ryan? All right there?”

“Y-y-yeah. Thank the Goddess ffff-for Aaron's quick th-th-thinking. Dragged me under th-th-the bed after everything ssss-started sh-shaking.”

Ryan was quite literally shaking himself, looking alarmed and frightened. God, for good reason! The place had quite literally come down on top of them all.

Rasalas pointed his wand at the centre of the room. “ _Accio_ Ryan's broom!”

“You all right to fly?”

“Y-y-yeah, I th-th-think so.”

“Aaron, you hurt?”

“No, just a bit shaken. God... looks like the whole place came down.”

“It did.”

There came an explosion of debris, and Ryan's broom sailed out of it, and into Rasalas' outstretched hand.

“Here. You guys get out of here. Aurors are clearing the debris, go tell them to quit... we just need to find Corey, and I know where he should be.”

He sent the broom at Ryan, but Aaron caught it.

“C'mon, let's go find your brother.”

Corey's room was at the far end of the manor, and it took a little more delicate spell-work to locate him. With the room being on a corner, and a fractured chimney threatening to collapse at any second, it couldn't be approached in the same way as they'd done with Ryan and Aaron.

So, it was nearly fifteen minutes before the debris was cleared enough for them to have a look. They found Corey pinned between the bed and the wardrobe, which had then been pinned by a section of the wall. It took another few minutes, with Rasalas wanting to be very careful... a wrong move, and Brady's brother could be crushed.

Finally, the wardrobe was vanished, and Corey was then carefully moved up onto the bed, though it was at an uneven angle. Still, it was a stable surface, which Rasalas then levitated out of the debris, and set down in the yard. There, Rasalas knew it was a dire circumstance. The guy was ashen, barely this side of death. They needed a healer immediately.

“You stay with him, I'll go fetch a healer.”

Brady quickly dismounted, and Rasalas then took off, making a fast track back to the hole in the ceiling above his shattered room. 'We're staying in the sanctuary from here on out,' he decided, 'Someone could have died! Corey still might!' The earthquake or whatever it was had shaken him in more ways than one.

Re-entering the sanctuary, they found Sirius had been moved onto a conjured stretcher, though he was then conscious and aware.

“Sirius! You okay?”

“I will be, kiddo. What happened?”

“Brady says it was an earthquake. Uh... we... we need a healer right away. Corey's been badly injured.”

“Take me to him,” said the first healer.

“It'll have to be on my broom, I still don't know how to Apparate.”

Rasalas quickly escorted her back through the door and into the shattered room. He remounted his broom, and with her on the back, they blasted back up and through the hole, only to land a minute later, where he'd left the bed. Brady was checking his brother over, looking very worried.

“Let me see.”

The healer produced her wand, and started casting a number of spells, looking more grave the longer she went.

“He's been nearly crushed to death... I'll need to treat him at Upper Canada Hospital, the injuries he's suffered are too serious to be addressed here.”

She reached into her kit, and pulled out a potion.

“Help me give this to him. It'll put him into a form of stasis so we can have a chance to treat him.”

“Draught of Living Death,” Rasalas guessed, to which the healer gave a nod.

“It buys us some time.”

Brady looked horrified, but he still helped her administer the potion.

“Is it possible to transport him by floo powder?”

“It's not desirable, but yes, we can,” answered the healer.

“We'll have to go into the sanctuary... I mean, where Sirius is being treated. We can use the fire there.”

“Move the door, Ras. No way we can fly up there, right?” Brady was still fixated on his gravely injured brother.

“I... yeah. Stay here.”

Rasalas once again took off on his broom, to land in the remains of his room. This time, he closed the door into the sanctuary, and touched it with his wand, speaking, “Retract”. It was the exact reverse of when the door had formed, as it disappeared, and a pair of lines seemed to unzip, travelling downward, to once again meet in the middle of the baseboard. The obsidian-coloured orb reappeared in its place.

Rasalas quickly collected it, re-mounted his broom, and left the wreckage. Now, to find a place to reinstall the door, if only temporarily. He touched down again, and passed his broom back to Brady, while looking for something to use. There. A big section of the wall was relatively intact, and so he summoned it, and propped it up so it was nearly-vertical. The corner of the manor nearby had remained relatively intact, so it served as a good backing. They would only need it for a few minutes. Sure that the setup would work, he then set the orb down on the ground.

Unfortunately, instead of a door, the orb instead disappeared, and a circle began to draw itself on the ground, forming into a very old well cover, rather than a door. Definitely not what they needed, but at this point, he couldn't be sure whether he could get a proper door to appear or not. The orb obviously knew the difference between inside and outside, and really... there was no time to fight with it.

“I'm sorry... this is the best I can do,” he apologized.

“Long as it leads us back to a fireplace, Mr. Black,” said the healer.

Rasalas pulled the cover open, to find a ladder going down. He climbed in, noticing quickly, the ladder had been placed beside the door leading into the Sawyers'.

“You p-p-put it on the g-g-ground,” Ryan guessed.

“Not practical, but the best we have.”

It was then Rasalas noticed a pair of feet descending. The healer was lowering Corey through the opening, and Rasalas produced his wand, ready to take over if necessary.

“I'll see to it, Mr. Black,” said the second healer.

“Your colleague wants him taken to the hospital.”

“Yes, as I gathered. We've done this before, Mr. Black.”

“Forgive me.”

Once Corey was through, the first healer quickly followed, with Brady only inches behind.

“Now, Mr. Gibson, you'll likely want to come along, but—”

“They're under our protection, madam healer,” said Sirius, “And since I need a bit of rest, my godson will be going in my place. Rasalas, you need to contact Auror Jackson as well, make sure the protection detail is aware.”

It was then another person was climbing in, and by the boots, Rasalas knew it was the protection detail already present. That would account for everyone on the island.

“I'm goin' to wake mom. She... she needs to know,” said Brady, quietly.

“We have to go right now. Take some time, get some rest. He'll be in treatment likely for several hours, so it won't do a whole lot of good sitting at the hospital.”

“She's right, Mr. Gibson,” said Sirius, “Go wake your mother, we'll get you to the hospital before he regains consciousness.”

Brady was about to protest, but then realized both the healers and Sirius were right.

“We'll fire-call once he's been moved out of treatment. What's the floo address here?”

“Black sanctuary,” Rasalas answered.

The first healer grabbed a larger-than-normal handful of floo powder from the small cup hanging at the side of the fireplace, and threw it into the fire. She then pointed her wand at the roaring green flames, commanding, “Priority connection by healer credentials, Upper Canada Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.”

It seemed to take a few seconds, before the fire seemed to roar even higher, and turned a deep blue shade. In addition, the fireplace itself actually widened, providing room for three people to pass through it side-by-side. With Corey's petrified form supported between them, the healers then stepped into it, and vanished, and the fire—along with the fireplace—then returned to normal.

“Priority connection?” questioned Aaron, while Brady had already passed through the door leading back into the Sawyers.

“It provides a direct connection to the hospital through the floo network,” said Sirius.

“Oh. Like a direct line on the phone.”

“Similar, but different. It interrupts regular floo connections. It's meant for emergencies,” one of the Aurors explained. “A more suitable comparison would be an air-ambulance, except that it's much faster.”

“And cheaper,” said Rasalas, “The government billed me two-hundred and forty dollars back in September. I didn't have health insurance.”

“L-l-l-look... uh... Ma needs to know what happened... w-w-we're gonna be up a while. You sssss-should call Kate... your t-t-tutors...”

“Ryan... we'll cross those bridges when we need to. Go find your parents,” said Rasalas.

“And we need to confer with the protection detail at the Sawyers, let them know... get in touch with Auror Jackson, let him know,” said one of the Aurors.

Ryan could only agree with the logic, and so passed through the door back into his house, with the Aurors following.

“Well, kiddo, looks like we're staying here a while,” said Sirius.

“Yeah. And I think we should have rooms for everyone in here, rather than bother the Sawyers. They've been really cool, but... I think Mrs. Sawyer and her husband liked having the house to themselves again.”

Rasalas blew out a breath.

“You all right?”

“Nothing permanent. The healers patched me up quite well. You'll need some help collecting belongings and so on.”

“I was going to ask, but...”

“I can help you with that, as can Ryan. He's learning rather quickly.”

“Yeah. Agreed. He's pretty smart... his injury's forced him to compensate, right? No matter, everything's on hold for the next little while, until we sort through all this. Brady's gonna need a load of support... again. Never mind his brother.”

“Theresa will help them both, Rasalas. As much as she's helped you.”

“I know. I just feel bad for them both. Before I came along, he was doing fine on his own. Now... they'll never be the same. I mean, Brady won't be able to promote his music... not safely. And his mum's being traumatized again, finding out her youngest child has been nearly killed here this morning. I know she resents us... and this will only add to it.”

“Don't blame yourself, kiddo. None of us could have seen any of this coming.”

* * *

It was several hours later, before a healer once again appeared in the fire, announcing that Corey had been moved to a recovery room. Though Ryan and Aaron wanted to go along, Sirius had decided it would be overwhelming if too many were to crowd the room. Betty said very little, but Brady invited Rasalas to go along. It would be bad enough getting his mother through the floo as it was.

After a bumpy trip by floo powder, they found themselves in what could have been the typical reception area for a non-magical hospital... that's if you discounted the moving portraits on the wall, or the way the healers were dealing with the patients... never mind some of the people waiting for treatment.

“Mom... c-close your eyes,” Brady warned, getting a look at some people.

A middle-aged man was sitting in a corner seat with a strange plant somehow growing out of one ear. Another, somewhat younger man sat two seats over, his hand wrapped in a towel. From the look of the edge not covered by the towel, it was covered in nasty green spots. His face spoke of agony. Even more horrifying, was a young mother sitting with two identical boys. One of the boys had a blanket wrapped around the stump where his left leg should be. The mother held something wrapped in another blanket, and one end was bloody. It didn't leave much to the imagination, and quite bluntly, Brady really didn't want to know.

There was a short queue, and the young wizard at the front was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk.

“It's these – ouch – shoes my brother gave me – ow – they're eating my – OUCH – feet – look at them, there must be some kind of – AARGH – jinx on them and I can't – AAAARGH – get them off.”

“The shoes don't prevent you from reading, do they?” said the blonde witch, irritably pointing to the large sign that took up the wall behind her desk. “You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!”

The wizard hobbled and pranced out of the way, letting the queue move up. Brady chanced a look at the large sign:

  
  


ARTEFACT ACCIDENTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ground Floor

Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc.

CREATURE-INDUCED INJURIES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . First Floor

Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.

MAGICAL BUGS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Second Floor

Contageous maladies, e.g. Dragon pox, vanishing sickness

scrofungulus, etc.

POTION AND PLANT POISONING . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Third Floor

Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable giggling, etc.

SPELL DAMAGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fourth Floor

Unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly applied charms, etc.

COLLATERAL DAMAGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fifth Floor

Falls, slips, non-magical devices, disasters, etc.

CAFETERIA / HOSPITAL SHOP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sixth floor (3)

  
  


The wizard ahead of them was directed to the third floor, and Brady was up.

“Gibson,” he simply said, still not sure whether to be curious or horrified at what he was seeing.

“Ah. You would be his brother and mother,” said the witch, “You'll want the fifth floor. Reception there will further direct you.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“Can I look now?” Betty asked.

“No... keep hold'a me, mom. Good Lord...”

Rasalas could only shake his head, as he followed, with Auror Jackson pulling up the rear. The injuries did look ghastly, that was one thing for certain. Seeing a witch with smoke coming out of her ears and nose made them choose the stairs instead of riding a lift—Brady's mother was likely traumatized enough as it was.

Arriving at reception on the fifth floor, reception quickly directed them to a ward a quarter way down the corridor. An Auror stood watch just outside of it, but it was best to be certain.

“You guys go on in. I don't want to—”

“Ras... 'ya saved his life,” said Brady, “You're not intrudin' if that's what 'ya think.”

“Well...” Rasalas once again found himself unable say 'no' to Brady.

There were four beds in the room, and only the one at the far end was occupied. Auror Jackson remained at the door out of respect, while Brady, his mother, and Rasalas approached. Corey was still asleep, the covers drawn up to his neck, and if Rasalas had to guess from memory, he looked somewhat better than earlier.

“My boy...” Betty whispered, pulling up a chair to sit close to the bed.

“He'll be well again, Mrs. Gibson. The healers are good at what they do,” Rasalas promised.

Betty said nothing, as she reached under the cover and found her son's hand, clasping it in her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: With the Manor being a complete write-off, Rasalas is forced to make large changes to the sanctuary to accommodate people; work begins on Rasalas' new home; and discovery is made as to exactly what the sanctuary is truly capable of... ___
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So we get a glimpse into Harry/Rasalas' Occlumency lessons. Much better having someone who is both compassionate and competent, no? Still, it's not going to be a cake-walk, Occlumency is projected in canon to be a difficult thing to learn. It'll be a while before he picks up even the bare basics of it._
> 
> _(1) I may not have mentioned it earlier... Y6B – As quoted from Wikipedia: “...is the strongest-pulling extant steam locomotive in the world... It is a four-cylinder compound articulated (Mallet) locomotive with a 2-8-8-2 (Whyte notation) wheel arrangement.” The Y6B is referred to as the “Improved Y5-Y6 class”... all were owned by the Norfolk & Western railway._
> 
> _(2) A reminder that YouTube was still a VERY new concept/venture in March of 2006, having only been officially launched in November of 2005._
> 
> _(3) Taken from Pg. 429, “Order of the Phoenix”, Canadian soft-cover edition. Mostly verbatim._


	19. "It's Not a Delorean"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With the Manor being a complete write-off, Rasalas is forced to make large changes to the sanctuary to accommodate people; work begins on Rasalas' new home; and discovery is made as to exactly what the sanctuary is truly capable of..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(Dec 22, 2025) – After some further research into possible sites for Camelot, a few changes have been made. I originally had Camelot as being in Cornwall; this has been changed to Somerset, reflecting the more likely site at Cadbury._

**202\. “IT'S NOT A DELOREAN”  
March 24 – April 2, 2006**

> _“Wait a minute, Doc. Ah... Are you telling me that you built a time machine... out of a DeLorean?”_

  
_\- Marty McFly to Dr. Emmett Brown,_   
Back to the Future   


Without question, the manor on Black Island was considered a write-off. Even with magic, it just made more sense to rebuild, and at that point, with construction about to begin on Rasalas' new residence across from the Sawyers, there just wasn't time.

While Brady and his mother stayed at Corey's bedside at Upper Canada Hospital, then, everyone else focused on salvaging belongings and other useful items from the wreckage of the house. Kreacher was more than helpful, collecting things of value and for now storing those items back at the townhouse in London. Things belonging to Rasalas, the Sawyers, or the Gibsons, meanwhile, were moved into the sanctuary temporarily.

Then there was the next problem, of providing accommodation for everyone. It was Ryan who thought of the solution late in the evening of March 25 th . “Why not just make extra r-r-rooms in here?”

“Do it. I mean, Mrs. Gibson will stay with the Sawyers, but... Corey will need a room... and Brady won't need to share anymore.”

“I'm fine sharin'.”

“Oh.” Rasalas felt his face get warm. “Uh... we'll make extra anyway. If Ron and Hermione come visit again before the house is done and so on.”

“How much work would it take to make a kitchen and maybe a place to eat?” Aaron suggested.

“Yeah, we can pull that off too.”

“Sounds like you're wanting to make a complete flat,” said Sirius.

“That's exactly it!” said Rasalas, now excited, “God, we can easily pull that off. Right...”

He stood up, and closed his eyes. For several moments, nothing happened. Then, it seemed like a hallway began to form at one end of the room, opposite the fireplace. Another opening appeared to the left of the fireplace, and a room began to take shape. All the while, the air seemed to sing with magical energy, as the powerful artefact carried out the owner's wishes.

Rasalas at last opened his eyes.

“Right. So through the opening there—” he pointed to the opening to the left of the fireplace, “—we have the dining room. The kitchen and pantry are found at the far end. The hallway over there—” Rasalas pointed to the newly-formed hallway, “—leads to the rooms. I've taken the liberty of providing an oversize bathroom because of our number.”

He grinned and said, “Being the owner of the flat, my room is the first door on the left.”

“And likely the biggest room,” Aaron smirked.

“Hey, there's two of us in there.”

“S-s-s-s-same with us.”

“Then you can make modifications to suit. The other rooms are exactly the same size. And besides, I would figure the pair of you would rather stay in the house.”

“Not always. And wwww-what happens if we're not here... I mean, you end up going somewhere and take the orb with you?”

“I don't plan on removing the door to your place, Ryan. Even once my place is finished. I mean, think about it. Having to walk between our places and it pissing rain doesn't sound entertaining.”

“Depends on whether or not the r-r-rain is warm or not.”

“Knowing you guys, you'd just roll around in the mud anyway,” said Rasalas, rolling his eyes.

“Don't knock it 'till ya t-t-try it.”

That had Brady smirking, and Rasalas rolling his eyes again. He blew out a breath.

“You guys are insufferable at times.”

“Rollin' around in the mud's not a challenge... gettin' the truck stuck in three feet of mud's more like it.”

“Let me guess... you've done it.”

Now both Ryan and Aaron were smirking.

“Right. Here's the rule. If you come into my new flat—or my new home for that matter, covered in mud, you'll be cleaning it up without the help of magic,” Rasalas vowed. He smirked as he said it, however.

* * *

_March 30_

With the weather beginning to warm up and the ground thawed enough, contractors arrived to begin work on Rasalas' new home. Though the build was new, the design had pulled from a sample of dozens of homes built in the Queen Anne style, popular in the late 1880s through to the 1910s. The style had completely fallen out of favour by the 1920s.

With the Sawyers' house being built in 1904, Rasalas wanted his own place to 'fit in' with the neighbour, rather than go with the current modern designs that lacked character. Perhaps it was the Black blood in him speaking, but... we'll leave that for another day.

* * *

_April 2_

Corey had been released from the hospital the previous afternoon in perfect health. The healers had done a wonderful job getting him back up on his feet. The family had spent the afternoon and part of the evening in the Sawyers' living room, and out of respect, everyone else gave them space.

That Sunday, then, both Corey and Brady insisted on attending church somewhere. Aaron, having lived in Newcastle, knew of a few, and offered to take them. They were gone for a good part of the morning. Rasalas knew at least a pair of Aurors would go along, though they would be out of sight, as was the rule during outings into the non-magical world.

With Brady and his family elsewhere, and Ryan being pulled into the shop to help his father, Rasalas was for the most part alone. Sirius was around, but still busy with the mess left from the earthquake, namely sorting through the items salvaged from the wrecked manor. It was a rather large building and all that.

So it was, that Rasalas at last turned his attention to the small trunk that had been in the default room. It had been tucked away in a corner of the room, and quite honestly, real estate in the common room was becoming scarce. So it had become a matter of figuring out if it was worth keeping or not.

In retrospect, perhaps he should have looked in there right at the beginning. Among the number of items inside, was a map, along with an old, worn journal. The binding was actually quite fragile, and an attempt to repair it with either of his wands had no effect. Something that could not be repaired. That was something  _new_ ...

He spent the next hour carefully leafing through the tattered journal. The language was almost foreign, the form of English being so old—never mind the condition of the text. Some parts were badly stained, to the point of being nearly unreadable. For the most part the text seemed to be the ramblings of a mage, as he travelled the country.

Going with his gut, Rasalas pushed on. There was a reason this journal had been placed in the chest. And the map, which he realized was of the U.K., looked to be about as old as the journal. At least it was far more legible. However, like the journal, it was immune to magic. Strangely, there were four locations marked on the map: one in the southwest, due south of Bristol; the second was in western Scotland—a little northwest of Glasgow, if his geography served him correctly. He'd have to look it up on the computer. The third, meanwhile, he had to think a moment. Looks close to the second marker, but a little further south and to the east, maybe? The fourth, finally, he had a strong suspicion of what it was: Hogsmeade. Definitely needed to see a current map for a comparison. He'd certainly made sure to learn more about his homeland over the past twenty-plus years, but it didn't make him an expert. That's what  _Google Maps_ was for.

So the question, then. What did all four locations have in common, other than the obvious? He blew out a breath, deciding to return to the journal. Maybe there would be more—he didn't finish the thought.

_Both_ aptum cubiculum _(1) have been carried to safety, far out of the reach of the Saxons as their numbers surge across the land. Though it is not confirmed, we believe Excalibur has returned to Avalon, and once again we can only hope and pray it be so. The invaders carry great strength in numbers alone, they need not powerful weapons originally given to us in defence against them!_

_The lesser of the pair has been sent to northeastern Scotland; the Ravenclaw family has sworn to keep it sealed away. The second, stronger unit has been sent to the Peverell family in Wales. If rumour stands correct, they have ways of hiding, perhaps even from Death himself._

_The_ tempore liquido _has been placed in the ground near Garelochhead, the sea itself lending hands to conceal this powerful item. With Avalon lost to us, it can only be hoped these objects remain far out of reach of our enemies, for in their hands, it will only mean certain destruction._

Now, a couple of things made sense. He now had the explanation of where the Room of Requirement actually came from: Ravenclaw herself likely incorporated the device into Hogwarts itself. At this point he'd not seen the room itself, but based on Bill's description, he had a pretty good idea. Both that room, and the  _adaptable chamber_ he now owned sounded very much alike.

As to the 'temporal crystal'—if his Latin translation was correct, that had to be the marker near Glasgow. Now the debate: was it worth checking out? He did have his invisibility cloak... and he could disillusion himself... and he did have his broom... and Fawkes could carry him there and back. It shouldn't take more than an hour.

It took him a few minutes to collect his broom, and his cloak. “Fawkes?” Rasalas called out.

The bird appeared in a flash of golden flames, to land on the back of a nearby chair.

“I need you to take me to this spot,” said Rasalas, pointing to the tattered map, “Can you do it?”

Fawkes simply turned and offered his tail feathers, and they vanished with an equally bright flash of golden flames.

Make no mistake, Fawkes is a very intelligent creature. And so, bird and wizard appeared in behind a stack of shipping crates, on what looked like a dock of some sort.

“Brilliant as always, Fawkes. D'you mind waiting? Looks like I'm taking a swim.”

Even now, he could feel the object calling to him. In some ways, it was unnerving. Some viewed such charms and spells as dark magic. Rasalas, however, only saw it as something rather useful. It was the intent that determined whether something was truly dark or light, in his opinion. In this case, the object wanted to be found by a wizard (or witch) who needed it. Rasalas snorted in his head as he prepared to apply a warming charm. Right... he was already half-mental as it was.

Then again... if anyone could see what he was doing—it was the beginning of April—they would think he was off his nut! Bloody hell... the warming charm was more than necessary, as he slipped into the water. In fact, he cast a weak heating charm instead, realizing the water was just this side of freezing.

Back to the task at hand, he began to swim toward the source of the magical beacon. He hoped it wouldn't be too large... all he knew, it was some sort of crystal. Though, if he interpreted the journal correctly, it was something easily handled by one person. So it couldn't be that big, right?

His guess was spot-on. Coming up on the source of the magical signal, he could see a small sphere half-buried in the sediment, casting a soft blue light. He could also feel a few wards around—no, not just anyone would have found it. So what was it? He reached down to snatch the sphere from the sediment.

The instant his his hand closed around it, he suddenly found he was no longer at the bottom of the loch. Rather, he stood on the dock, as an enormous ship filled his vision. He had to guess it was almost a thousand feet long—well, maybe a little less, with four large smoke stacks. One of them still belched thick, black smoke. Seven decks, he counted, and not all that clean. The ship had definitely seen better days.

As he turned his eyes forward to perhaps get a glimpse of the ship's name, the vision was gone. He was back on the bottom of the loch, the orb still clutched in his hand. Okay. That was more than confusing.

Rasalas was more than happy to return to the sanctuary, and only when his boots made a squelching noise on the floor did he realize he'd forgotten to apply a drying charm. The unexpected, foreign memory had scattered him somewhat, if he had to admit.

“Woah. W-w-what happened to you? You go in the lake or something?” said Ryan, smirking, as he stepped into the sanctuary. Considering he'd spent the morning working in the shop, they looked rather clean for a change.

“I've had a... well... a bit of an adventure,” Rasalas answered, gesturing to himself and becoming instantly dry. Another gesture from his wand vanished the puddle that had formed at his feet. That coincided with both Brady and his brother stepping into the sanctuary from the Sawyers'. Both brothers looked at Rasalas, and smirked.

“Someone's been havin' fun.”

“W-w-what kind of adventure?” Ryan prompted again.

“It involved something I discovered in the default trunk, Fawkes, a visit to Scotland, and a dunk in near-freezing water, all in the course of a half-hour.”

“Coming from anyone else, I'd c-c-c-call them fucking crazy. From you... yeah, I b-believe it. Now the details!”

“Right, all right,” said Rasalas, “The trunk had a journal and a map in it. Both are tattered, barely readable, but... God. The artefact is incredibly old... I mean, possibly over a thousand years, probably double that.”

“R-really?”

“I was rather surprised to discover. The second bit, marked a spot north of Clydebank. The journal called it Garelochhead. All I know, the water was cold, and I recovered this.”

Rasalas reached into his satchel, and produced the orb. Now getting a closer look at it, it looked like a Remembrall. A dark blue smoky cloud was swirling around inside it.

“You're sayin' you went back to England for that,” said Brady.

“To c-c-c-c-collect an object that y-you don't even know anything about,” Ryan deadpanned.

“Yeah, that's about it.”

“Yup, certifiable.”

The five of them burst into laughter.

Rasalas finally recomposed himself. “Right. So, when I collected this thing, I received a flash memory, the best way to describe it. It was like I was witnessing an event from a long time ago. A ship with four chimneys was docked there in the same place.”

“Fourteen ships had f-f-f-four stacks. What colour were they? The stacks?”

“Red—no, more orange-like.”

“Then you're talking about a C-c-c-cunard ship,” said Ryan, “You have your p-p-pensive, right?”

“Better. You know how to look into my head. Have a look.”

Ryan and Rasalas made eye contact, if only briefly.

“ _Aquitania_. L-l-largest of the four-stackers. S-s-she was scrapped in 1950.”

“She looked in sad shape.”

“The c-c-company retired her a few months earlier. They said she was too old and too expensive t-t-to maintain. I'd give just about anything to see her. I was b-b-born about a hundred years too late. All the cool steam stuff was still around then, r-r-right?”

“Oh. Gotcha.”

“If it's steam, you've got my interest,” said Ryan, “A ship like the _Aquitania_... there would be a ch-ch-challenge. Lots of heat, and lots of steam.”

“She looked enormous. A thousand feet, give or take.”

“Just over nine-hundred f-f-f-feet.”

As they ate lunch back in the house, Rasalas continued to mull over the strange experience he'd had that afternoon. In retrospect, he'd taken a risk—the object  _could_ have been cursed. However, his gut feeling had proven correct. Now, the question was, what was the purpose of the sphere?

Returning to the sanctuary immediately after lunch, they all noticed something had changed—or more specifically, another room had been added.

“Okay. This was definitely not here when I left,” Rasalas muttered, producing his stronger wand. He found that the wand he'd taken from Dumbledore responded far better than his holly wand for some reason.

The room was circular, a little larger than the main room, with a single pedestal at its centre. The pedestal itself contained a spherical receptacle, and a series of counters and switches were arranged around it. The ceiling, meanwhile, contained a map of the night sky.

“It's a planetarium,” said Aaron, “Though, what's the point of view?”

“W-w-well, if the map on the floor is right, it's... it's what we would see at night.”

It was then Rasalas noticed the floor was indeed a massive map, with the centre of the room being focused on the location of his house. The map was incredibly detailed, with them easily being able to make out the various trees that made up the wind break at the western edge of the property, and the CNR tracks that ran across the northern part of the property. They could even make out the high-tension power lines that ran to the north of them, and the busy 401 motorway further north yet again.

“M-m-maybe that crystal or w-w-whatever you found fits in the pedestal,” Ryan suggested.

“Only one way to find out. You guys might want to wait outside, just in case.”

“The hell we are,” said Brady.

“Just d-d-do it,” said Ryan, “If your ancestor had this, it's n-n-not likely gonna do anything dangerous.”

Rasalas couldn't find any fault in that argument. He again pulled the orb out of his satchel, and placed it in the receptacle.

Instantly, all of the counters and the dials lit up with a soft blue glow, and a number of stars on the sky map also became just a little brighter.

“Woah.”

“Uh, right. So what's it for?”

The sound of several books falling to the floor outside the room drew them back out to the common room, with Rasalas once again drawing his wand. Three books had quite literally dropped on the floor in front of the fireplace. One of them was truly enormous, and had to be eight inches thick, while the other pair were rather thin, including one that was similar to the journal he'd been reading much earlier.

“Hope you guys are up for some light reading. I have a suspicion these might tell us what the planetarium is truly for.”

“What happened?” Sirius had been in his own room, and had been drawn into the common room with the noise.

“The chamber is having a bit of fun with us,” said Rasalas, rolling his eyes, and gesturing to the stack of books.

“Anything I can help with?”

“We... God, my brain's already going into overload as it is, so much information,” Rasalas complained.

“Books later,” Brady decided, “It's nice out, let's go for a ride.”

“On the broom?”

“No, my bike.”

“Ah. Yeah, I like the sound of that,” Rasalas grinned. “Unless...”

“Go,” said Aaron, “We'll keep checking this stuff out.”

“And the Aurors need to know you're going,” said Sirius.

“We know protocol,” said Rasalas, once again rolling his eyes.

Sometime later, they were once again flying down one of the many narrow back roads. Flying was an apt phrase, since if Rasalas had to guess, they were pushing eighty to eighty-five miles an hour. Obviously, Brady had missed being out on his bike.

If he were honest, Rasalas had missed it too. Though riding on his broom was still better, being on the bike was... different. It was a different feel than flying. That was the best way to put it. Just as driving was different yet again. Though, driving... they weren't as close, and if Rasalas really thought about it... he enjoyed being close to his friend. But in the truck, Brady tended to work on his songs, and that meant he would sometimes sing... and that's something that couldn't be done on the bike, or on the broom. Choices were most difficult at times.

They returned to the house a few hours later, to a bit of excitement in the sanctuary.

“Ras! C'mon, we have something you need to see,” said Aaron, practically dragging both him and Brady into the planetarium. “Sirius thinks there's a spell on it. A... locking charm, I think.”

“Locking charm?”

“Whoever wrote this didn't want just anyone to learn how to cast it, that's what Sirius thinks.”

They found Ryan, Corey, and Sirius, still gathered around the pedestal in the centre of the room. Sirius was prodding one of the dials with his wand.

“Locking charm,” Rasalas again repeated.

“If what I'm reading is correct... we need three wands. Uh... Ryan, if you'll stand there. And Rasalas, you stand there... good. You know the release spell—”

“R-relashio, you mean,” said Ryan.

“Exactly. And you have to speak it firmly and clearly, in unison with us. Can you do it?”

“Yeah, I think s-so.”

“I think then, I understand the wand movements. When I say 'portus', I need you both to cast the release charm on the pedestal. You both understand?”

“Yeah.”

“G-got it.”

“Everyone else, stand back a bit, I'm still unsure of what this will truly do,” Sirius warned.

As they drew their wands, Sirius began to weave an intricate pattern with his own, encircling several of the dials, muttering an incantation. It was repeated a second time, this time with her tapping all of the counters. Then—

“ _Portus_!”

“ _RELASHIO_!(1)” came three voices in unison.

The night sky being projected spun around in a blur for several moments, while the floor actually shook. A large drawing table appeared near the doorway, with a set of partitions and dividers. They were covered with charts and notes, while the table itself was covered with a stack of large parchments. The sky projection finally stopped spinning, and everything again fell silent.

“Good Lord...” Brady finally managed. The hairs on his arms were all standing on end, from the magical charge that still hung in the air. If he had to admit, it was almost intoxicating.

“Woah... Check this out,” said Corey, pointing to the group of dials that surrounded the central pedestal.

“Zero two, zero four, plus two zero, zero six,” Rasalas read, “Today's date.”

“Plus?” Brady was confused, as he crossed the floor to look at the drawing table.

“Unless that means, A.D.—” Corey began.

“C.E.,” said Ryan, “S-s-scientific date notation.”

“C.E.?” asked Rasalas, who was also confused.

“Common era, rather than 'After Death'. Common era is the non-biblical notation to date, with B.C.E., or 'before common era' replacing 'Before Christ', or B.C.,” Aaron explained.

“'nother reason the world's goin' to hell,” Corey muttered.

“Th-th-this is true,” Ryan agreed, “Science can't explain everything.”

“Nor can magic,” Sirius also agreed.

“And we've strayed way off-track,” said Rasalas, rolling his eyes.

“Hold on a tic...” Brady had picked up one of the pages of parchment on the drawing table. “'gon try somethin'.”

He spread his hands wide, then brought them swiftly together, and instantly, the map under the floor seemed to zoom out rapidly, until they were seeing all of North America.

“How...” Rasalas was confused.

“Instructions how to work the map. Uh... let's try...” He swept his right arm in a left-hand motion, sending the map spinning a moment, before it came to rest, showing the Mediterranean. A slight pushing motion away from him nudged the map northward, until they were then looking at a map of the U.K.

“Where's that old map you had?”

“ _Accio_ map,” Rasalas intoned. A few seconds later, the map in question flew into his outstretched hand. He joined Brady at the table, and laid it out flat.

“Let's try an' figure out where these places really are.”

“Agreed. Though, I know where this one is.” Rasalas pointed to the spot near Glasgow.

“This says we can mark it,” said Brady, “But better...”

He glanced again at the map, then brought his hands together, then gently pulled them apart. The map began to zoom in, revealing incredible detail.

“God, I don't think even _Google Maps_ has this kind of resolution,” said Rasalas, shaking his head.

“Someone touch it with a wand.”

“G-g-got it,” said Ryan, touching the spot on the floor with his wand. An orange, ghost-like flag appeared. Or perhaps, a banner was a better description.

Now, a label also showed up on the map: FASLANE.

Rasalas continued to reference the old map, while Brady continued to work the large map under the floor. It was truly amazing, the amount of detail it gave. They could almost see the traffic on the roads, the resolution was that good.

“All right, next. A marker a northeast of Yeovil, so, about here.” Rasalas tapped the map with his wand, creating another marker. The label beneath it read: CADBURY SOUTH.

They were then momentarily interrupted, as Casey stepped into the room.

“Great Goddess...” she muttered, getting her first look at it.

“Fascinating magic, very old, Mrs. Sawyer,” said Sirius.

“I can feel it,” said Casey, “I can feel it faintly downstairs.”

Rasalas looked surprised. “Really?”

“It's been an interesting discovery, this much is for certain,” said Sirius.

“We're trying to match up some old place marks with the present-day map,” Aaron explained.

“Uh... next place...” said Brady, again shifting the map. Casey watched, fascinated, as the entire map seemed to scroll by his hand gestures. He stopped it.

“Tell me when I'm in the right place,” said Rasalas, as he moved up the map.

“Stop.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. Little more to the left... there.”

Rasalas looked down at the spot. “It's a settlement of some kind.” He tapped the map with his wand, creating yet another marker. This one was red. And the label that appeared beneath it read: GLASTONBURY TOR.

“Well now! This is intriguing!” said Casey, “Glastonbury was supposedly also the location of Avalon.”

“Wait. Wasn't the isle of Avalon supposed to be surrounded by a lake?” questioned Aaron.

“Back in the time of Arthur, fourteen or fifteen hundred years ago, it would have been,” said Casey, “This entire area was drained so the land could be used for farming.”

“So the other locations...”

“This one... doesn't make a lot of sense. Unless...”

Casey seemed to be thinking a moment.

“Unless this marks a much older site.”

Rasalas gave a nod. “A castle, maybe. Merlin only knows how many ancient castles have dotted the land over time. Hold on. There's one I forgot. Move me north east... northern Scotland.”

Brady did as asked, and Rasalas seemed to look around a moment.

“Here. I'll help,” Sirius offered, “I think I know what you're looking for.”

It took him a minute or so, before he tapped his wand on a spot. With another orange marker, came the label: HOGSMEADE.

“Hogsmeade... isn't that near where you went to school?” Corey remembered.

“It is. It's one of a very few completely magical communities in the U.K., and the location of Hogwarts,” Sirius explained, “Mr. Gibson, can you zoom the map in closer?”

Brady obliged, and much to Rasalas' shock, the map indeed revealed both the town and the castle, in incredible detail. Rasalas was once again mentally assaulted by another flash memory, of seeing the place for the first time. The boats, gliding gently across the lake.

“Great goddess... it looks magnificent,” said Casey, impressed.

Sirius gave a nod. “It's far more impressive to see it in person. Loads of wards around it though, including one that keeps non-magical people away.”

Brady, meanwhile, continued looking over the various charts pinned up on the dividers. Compared to the journals they had been combing through, this was proving to be a gold mine of information. Some of it was way over his head, but most of it...

“Fuck me sideways.”

He immediately had the attention of the entire room.

“This thing's a fuckin' time machine. Check this out... we got this thick book right... weighs same as a New York phone book? It's some kinda' chart, see. None specific... but general shit. 'an a lotta magic numbers...”

“Arithmency,” Sirius clarified.

“Yeah, think so.”

“So the right figures...”

“Damn. The ramifications... they're staggering,” said Aaron, shaking his head. “We could go just about anywhere.”

Rasalas gave a vicious smirk. “Yeah, and I know exactly where—or when... we need to go. Time for a few people to atone for their attack on me. I'll need all of your help on this.”

“How d-d-d-does it work though?”

“We got knobs...” said Brady, now shedding his jacket, and walking over to the pedestal. “Look. Still needin' to look it all up. But... the dials let us set it, see. This... orb or whatever it is... it's for makin' a port key.”

“And the map lets us determine the where part of the equation,” Rasalas finished. “Bloody hell.”

“Well, it's definitely not a d-d-d-delorean with a flux capacitor(2).”

Sirius and Rasalas looked at Ryan funny, while most of the others burst out laughing.

It came out of left field. A storm of visions and foreign memories stormed in front of Rasalas' mind-eye. Glimpses of a massive battle between ancient armies on an ancient battlefield; an imposing castle with a throng of men parading outside of it on horseback; an island surrounded by mists... dozens of similar memories, that finally ended with a single longsword being flung high in the air, to vanish in the clouds.

“ _You have the tools. Your training awaits,_ ” spoke a voice that Rasalas immediately recognized—the voice of the Goddess.

Now, he knew what he was expected to do.

“Mrs. Sawyer... all of you for that matter... how much do you guys know about Avalon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Preparations begin for an extraordinary trip through time; the goblins collect on a debt; the Sawyers celebrate Beltane; and final preparations result in Rasalas having to reveal a secret to his new friends..._   
>  _CHAPTER NOTES: (1) According to the HPL, this spell has several different effects (appears like JKR couldn't make up her mind there, eh?). I go with the common effect, 'to release something'._
> 
> _(2) Apologies, I couldn't resist._


	20. A Gateway to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Preparations begin for an extraordinary trip through time; the goblins collect on a debt; the Sawyers celebrate Beltane; and final preparations result in Rasalas having to reveal a secret to his new friends..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(Dec 22, 2015) - Small change made to reflect the change of the location of Camelot from Cornwall to Somerset_

  
**203\. A GATEWAY TO THE PAST**  
**May 2006 / May 515**  


  


> _“Originally, the burden of proof was on physicists to prove that time travel was possible. Now the burden of proof is on physicists to prove there must be a law forbidding time travel.”_

  
_\- Michio Kaku_   


The next two weeks proved to be extremely busy on a number of fronts. Both Brady and his brother ended up spending a number of days back in Georgia, as it neared the tax deadline in the United States. That meant meeting with both attorneys and accountants, to make sure everything was filed correctly and accurately. There had already been one scare a few months prior, and with such a circumstance, it was imperative it was done right. Last thing Brady needed was an audit. It was a given that they returned to the Sawyers overnight, since there were still security concerns.

The Sawyers, meanwhile, began to make more concrete plans regarding the Labour Day steam event. Although the event at Halloween had been a raging success with a staggering profit, it had proven to be a lot of work, too much, considering they'd already hosted one event less than two months prior.

So, the Labour Day event would also involve a number of musical acts to be presented over the weekend. Additionally, they decided to lengthen the event and open on Thursday rather than Friday. Phil was already considering shopping for another ride, perhaps two, in which to add to the collection.

On the musical side of things, there had already been more than a dozen enquiries from representatives of both Canadian and American musicians, starting back in November—hence the extension of the event by one day. It looked like they might have a high-profile headline act on each night, definitely better than at the inaugural event in the fall.

With the delay in getting the event laid out, however, a number of acts had already committed to other events that weekend. Rasalas was particularly disappointed when he learned this, silently promising to make retribution most unpleasant for those who were responsible for such a disruption.

* * *

On April 17, both Brady and his brother looked more than relieved, as they at last finished dealing with the tax forms and other rubbish that went along with it. It had been somewhat of a distraction, to say the least. Helping with the research into Avalon and the Arthurian legend was a lot less stressful and far more interesting any day.

Work on Rasalas' house, meanwhile, was progressing a little more quickly now that the basement had been completed and the floor joists for the ground floor installed. That meant they could begin installing the walls, among other things. Stone had been trucked in for the fireplace, and that was being moved in place. Thus far, estimates put completion sometime in early June.

That would mean they would likely already be back in Arthurian times. They had settled on May of 515, since according to the information they had, Morgaine was staying at Camelot during that time. Meeting her was a minimum objective, if not speaking to the Lady of the Lake herself.

April 23 brought about the second live steam event of the year, this time with six steam engines running from about eleven in the morning until dinner time. The weather had felt more like early summer than mid-spring, with the temperature reaching the low twenties (mid-seventies on the old scale). The clean-up resulted in yet another messy fight in the shop, with Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron becoming covered in a greasy mess. This time, Casey had no clue, since she and Betty had retreated to the back deck for the evening. The expanded bathroom in the sanctuary most definitely proved its worth.

With the weather being so warm, Phil brought up another issue as they had breakfast the following morning.

“I think we need to get the pool set up before you guys go,” he said.

“Pool?” Rasalas questioned.

“You probably don't remember it from last year, but yes, we do have a pool,” said Casey, “We take it down during the winter, but with the weather getting nicer, it might be nice to have it set up before you all disappear on us.”

“I'll need to pull the one-and-a-half inch hose from the shop and hook it up to the water tower. Ryan, you know where the pool is stored, why don't you guys get started with it after breakfast?”

“Where is it set up?”

“Remember w-w-w-where we had the bonfires on Halloween?” Ryan asked.

“Oh. Right. Wondered why there was a big circular pad there.”

“We have a heavy rubber-like mat that goes on top of it before the pool gets put on it,” said Phil, “Makes it a little more comfortable on the feet.”

“Water's g-g-gonna be a... it's gonna be c-c-cold. No matter w-w-where we get it from.”

“I think a warming charm will work well enough,” said Sirius, “Rasalas, have you shown Ryan that one yet?”

“Yeah. Once I figured he likes getting soaked, messy, or muddy... that came along with the cleaning charms, I think.”

“Aw come on, Ras. You have fun doing that s-stuff too,” Aaron smirked.

Rasalas shrugged. “I'll never tell.”

Once breakfast was finished, Rasalas followed Ryan and Aaron to the smaller workshop, where the Y-6-b was stored. At the back, under one of the enormous tarps, was the parts to the pool. It was confusing, until Aaron explained it.

“It's called an Easy-Set, see. It's meant to be put together in an hour or so. With a few of us, it shouldn't take even that long. Biggest issue is getting the rubber pad out. Phil used the small forklift last year.”

“We'll just levitate it. Where is it?”

“In the shop. D-d-da will bring it.”

“Let's bring the rest then.”

Rasalas produced his wand, while Aaron opened the large roll-up door.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Locomotor_ pool parts!”

The entire palette of pieces lifted off the floor, and began to follow, as Rasalas walked out of the workshop, headed toward the concrete pad. Now completely unfazed by feats of magic, both Aaron and Ryan simply followed behind, with Ryan closing the roll-up door.

They were just in time, as Phil was already crossing the lawn on the forklift, a long roll being supported on its forks. Sirius had already vanished the remains of the bonfires, and so the pad was clean.

“Mr. Sawyer, just set it down, we can use our wands to get it into place,” said Sirius.

“Oh. Of course.”

Phil lowered the roll of rubber to the ground, and between Rasalas and Sirius, they lifted it again just a little off the ground.

“Place it so the end's at the edge of the pad... good. Now unfurl it.”

With a flick of the wand, the roll seemed to unroll itself, laying almost perfectly flat.

“B-b-better than we did last year,” Ryan admitted.

“Y'all 'r doin' a great job!” Brady called out. He and his brother were both sitting in chairs up on the deck, under the canopy.

Rasalas smirked. “Right then. Last one of you to touch the edge of the pad and join us here gets thrown in the pool soon as it's full... and before we put warming charms on it.”

It was comical, seeing the pair trying to outrace each other to the pad. In the end it was Corey making it to the edge of the pad a half-step ahead of his older brother.

“Bastard.”

“Damn straight,” Corey smirked.

“Right. So you guys help unload s-s-s-stuff from the palette. The upright parts...”

“These,” said Aaron, “They need to lay around the outside.”

“God, there's a lot of parts,” said Rasalas, “Why don't you guys just get a pool installed?”

“We thought of it. We like this a bit better, I guess,” said Phil, while the parts were being moved into their general place.

“I see that look, kiddo.”

“I think I need a pool installed,” Rasalas smirked. “I mean, the lake looks nice, but...”

“N-uh-uh. You'll freeze your balls off in it,” said Aaron, “Trust me.”

“But why? It's just a lake, right?”

“Eight hundred feet deep at its deepest point. Parts of it never warm up... and you get strong wind one day, it all gets stirred up. Getting a pool is a good idea, and I mean really... you can afford it, so go for it.”

“Why d'ya wanna waste money though? Jus' put one in your sanctuary or whatever,” Brady pointed out.

“Yeah, we could do that too. But not everyone’s gonna be allowed to see my hidden home. No, I'm adding a pool to my official home. Maybe have a word with the contractor later,” Rasalas decided.

By 10 o'clock, they had everything assembled. Though there were more than enough hands to get it done manually, the use of magic really moved things along. While Aaron and Ryan hooked up the thick hose to the water tower, Phil once again took the forklift back over to the shop, to fetch the pump and the filter, as well as the various fittings that were too fragile to be left outside during the winter.

“All right. The really chilly part of this,” said Aaron, “We need to put a half-inch of water in, and make sure there are no wrinkles.”

“I might have an easier solution that won't involve frozen feet,” said Sirius, “Add a bit of water, and I'll show you.”

“How deep is it when it's full?” Corey asked.

“About three feet,” said Ryan, “S-s-so no jumping or diving.”

“Yeah, sort of figured that much.”

“Meaning in the summer we'll need cooling charms.”

“N-n-no thanks. I like it warm,” said Ryan, smirking, “W-w-warming charms gotta be the best thing since sliced bread.”

Aaron also smirked. “You should see how hot he makes his showers.” He opened the end valve, and dropped the hose into the pool.

* * *

As Rasalas helped the Sawyers get their pool set up, a very different scene was unfolding in an office on the forty-eighth floor of _First Canadian Place_ , the tallest office building in Toronto. _Allen, McNalley & Webber_ , the sign behind the receptionist read. It was the office of a powerful trading firm, responsible for about ten percent of the daily trading volume on the _Toronto Stock Exchange_.

The incredibly short individual who stepped into the office was sharply dressed, and to many... something seemed off... though he weren't entirely... human.

“How may I help you?” asked the receptionist.

“I'm here to speak with Mr. Webber,” said the individual, giving a nasty grin.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I assure you, he will want to see me immediately. I am here in the matter of a number of outstanding debts that must be settled.”

The receptionist frowned, but punched in a number on the telephone key pad—she wore a headset making it easier to perform other tasks while using it. 'Man looks more like a troll,' she thought as the line rang through the ear piece.

“Mr. Webber? It's Carla... Yes... I have a...” she covered the microphone. “I didn't get your name.”

“Mr. Garokat,” answered the man, giving another evil grin. She uncovered the microphone again.

“I have a Mr. Garokat to see you with regard to... a number of outstanding debts... I... no. All right, thank you sir.”

She disconnected the call.

“Mr. Webber has no recollection of being in arrears in any debt he currently owes. Unless you have proof—”

Mr. Garokat reached into his portfolio, and withdrew a single folder.

“I will only discuss the contents with Mr. Webber,” he insisted.

The receptionist frowned again. 'Definitely looks like a troll... or a goblin,' she thought, dialling the same number.

“Mr. Webber? Carla again. Mr. Garokat has a folder he will only show to you. All right. I'll send him in.”

She hung up.

“You can go on in. Down the hall to my left, last door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

Garokat followed the receptionist's instructions, stepping into the office at the far end of the hallway.

Mr. Webber was rather tall, with nearly-white hair. He was momentarily startled at the vertically-challenged individual who stepped into the office, but still greeted him politely.

“What can I do for you?”

“Answer to some uncollected debts, Mr. Webber,” said Garokat, producing the folder yet again. Mr. Webber automatically reached out to grasp it, but instead felt a terrible hook about the naval, as he and Garokat were carried away in a blur of limbs. Their departure also sent off a barely-detectable magical pulse that felt like the approach of an electrical storm. It spread out in all directions, scrambling or otherwise frying every computer and electronic device on the floor.

* * *

Kate visited the following morning, bringing a copy of the _National Wizards' Standard_.

_STOCK MARKET CHAOS_

_TORONTO STOCK EXCHANGE DROPS 16%_

_SPILL-OVER FELT IN NY, BRIEF HALT IN TRADING_

_Many investors are waking up with terrible losses this morning, after a disastrous day of trading in Toronto._

_The incident began just after 10 am yesterday, when 10% of the wealth represented on the exchange vanished with no reason or warning. This immediately triggered an automatic circuit breaker which halted trading for an hour, according to TSX procedure._

_When trading once again resumed just after 11 am, investors remained in a state of panic, resulting in a further 6% drop by 1:30 pm, and a further 2% by 2:15 pm. The market did recover slightly, but losses still added up to 16% of the trading volume by close of business yesterday._

_Market insiders and officials from the Investment Industry Regulatory Organization of Canada (IIROC) are conducting an investigation into what caused the unexpected loss..._

Rasalas put the paper down.

“What really happened? Somehow I don't think our paper usually reports on something that happened in the non-magical world.”

“And you're right. You'll be pleased to know punitive action has been taken against one of the families responsible for the attack on Mr. Gibson. Garokat saw to it personally, with perhaps unexpected complications.”

“Who was it?”

“A Mr. Webber, if my info's right,” said Kate, “He's been port keyed to Gringotts, along with three other members of his family. Don't ask me what they'll be made to do. It's better none of you know.”

“All right. But... unexpected—where was Mr. Webber's office?”

“First Canadian Place. It's the white office tower—”

“I know what it is. He did magic there? Bloody hell.”

“The ministry is most definitely investigating, and we will be speaking to Garokat about it. Though I do suspect whatever happened was an accident, the goblins tend to be careful when dealing with non-magical people.”

Rasalas only shook his head. “Shit happens, right? No matter, I'll let Brady know.”

“Where is he?”

“With his brother and mum, I think. Y'know I'm envious of him... still having his mum... just as I'm envious of Ryan, having both his parents still.”

“No one will fault you there, Rasalas. Now, you've set a date when you're travelling to—”

“Midnight on May first,” Rasalas answered.

“I assume you'll be taking adequate supplies in the event you cannot access the connection here.”

“Yeah. Lots of planning in place. Sirius has Kreacher stocking the pantry and so on. Sirius will speak for me while I'm away.”

“As I assumed. You certainly do have us rather busy.”

“All that matters are that my interests are protected. That would extend to Brady and his family, and to some extent, Ryan and his family.”

“It's a given. We'll ensure the Auror protection remains in place, even in your absence.”

“Thing is, I don't think we'll be going all that far, not if the doors work as I think they do. It's magic that's ancient—beyond ancient,” said Rasalas. “I mean, it's something the Department of Mysteries would like to get their hands on.”

“I do have a suggestion. Use the mechanism to determine who was responsible for the attack on you.”

“Both Ryan and Brady have said the same thing. The thing is, I don't know if we'll have more than one shot at using it. I'd like to make our first attempt count, if you get my meaning.”

“That would make sense. But should it work, that would be my next course of action. Let's find out who hurt you so they can be brought to justice.”

“Trust me. They will be brought to justice eventually. Just not sure what I'll actually do with them when I catch 'em. Sirius is still looking into the family laws.”

“Rasalas...”

“It's within my rights as a Black, Kate.”

* * *

_April 30, 2006_

When Rasalas stepped into the dining room that morning, the house felt... different. The magic had changed.

Ryan only gave a grin, seeing the guy's puzzled look. “Happy Beltane,” he said, simply.

“Oh. I... well, I don't remember if I ever celebrated it,” Rasalas answered, as he took a seat at the table. “An early happy birthday, Aaron.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Ma's b-b-been up since before dawn getting the house r-r-ready.”

“Guess that explains why it feels different.”

“We do a house blessing at d-d-dusk, and there's a bonfire. I w-w-want you guys to join us. It's a lot of fun.”

“Well... all right. But Brady probably won't.”

“C'mon, I'm just as Christian as he is,” said Aaron, “And I'll be there. It's a family event more than a religious event, right?”

“G-g-good way to put it, yeah.”

“And really... where we're going tonight... you know Morgaine and her brother both worship the Goddess... and Arthur worships both.”

“All right, all right... I'm sold. Now. I thought I'd give you this now, since there may not be time later.”

Rasalas reached into his pouch, and pulled out a small box. He set it on the floor, then tapped it with his wand. “ _Engorgio_.”

Aaron picked it up, and opened it. Inside, he found an identical pouch to the ones Rasalas and Brady had. There was also a silver bracelet, which he put on at once.

“The bracelet is goblin-enchanted, and should help protect you against some of the lesser hexes and jinxes that might be used on you. I gave Brady something similar back in February.”

“Yeah, I sort of remember that. Thanks!”

“W-w-where is he anyway?”

“Brady? Where else? In that room he's made, with his brother and mum. I think he's really afraid we're gonna be separated, right? And his mum won't stay in the sanctuary. I think he's torn between coming with me, and staying with his mum. I guess I can't blame him.”

The day flew by, with wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Rasalas knew this was the preparation for a number of things that evening, including a feast—Sirius had assigned Kreacher to help Casey. There had been small flower wreaths placed in all the windows on the main floor made up of yellow flowers, all of which had been cultivated in the greenhouse since it was created. The wreaths were dominated by daffodils, but primrose, rowan, and hawthorn could also be found in the mix.

Mid-way through the afternoon, Rasalas realized there would be little chance for them to get any sort of rest before they travelled back to 515C.E. Of course... there was a solution... but it would mean revealing a secret. He huffed to himself. Fine. So be it. But they needed to be on their game. There was no guarantee how their arrival would be treated.

Rasalas found Brady once again with his brother and mother. The room Brady had created was enormous, to say the least. The door led into the great room of a house, inspired by the manor back on Black Island. That, however, was only the beginning, as one could then pass through the double doors leading outside, to an area that stretched out of sight. Rather than a beach and the ocean, it overlooked hills and valleys carpeted with trees. A medium-sized lake took up the bottom of the hill where the house stood. Knowing from already being at Brady's house in Georgia, it was a close replica.

“Brady. I need a word. Come into the room a second.”

They crossed the great room, then back into the common room.

“Wha's goin' on?”

“I'm locking the door to our room for the rest of the day.”

“What for?”

“I want to be sure it's unoccupied. We'll be needing it later.”

Brady furrowed his brows, and looked confused. “If we're needin' it later... why—”

“Trust me. It'll make sense later.”

When Brady returned to his 'house', Rasalas then went into their shared room, and made a small modification—namely the addition of an extra bed. He then left the room, sealing it with an owner-level lock just in case. It was vital the room remain unoccupied for the remainder of the day and night, if what he planned on doing was to work. He also took note of the time, committing it to memory. That would be vital, too.

The meal took place at sundown, after Ryan extinguished the fire in the fireplace—it would be re-lit later. The food was truly wonderful, with a number of traditional dishes being presented. A number of candles also adorned the table, and in some ways, it mirrored the feast held back at Christmas. Corey, Brady, and their mother whispered their own silent prayers before eating. This was nothing new, and nothing was said of it—the Sawyers were both accepting and accommodating.

With darkness falling, the gathering moved outside, with Casey having collected the uneaten scraps off everyone’s plates. Rasalas was curious to see what she would do with it, but found she'd simply tossed everything out in the nearby field.

“Some of the leftovers are g-g-g-given to the birds and animals,” Ryan answered, as they gathered around the pile of logs and twigs. He and Aaron had been busy during most of the afternoon setting it up. A few broken palettes had been laid at the bottom, along with wood scraps, twigs, logs, and dry grass.

Phil, meanwhile, set a large metal pot on a stand close to the pile of logs. Rasalas now knew it was a Caudle—an old English concoction or drink that would be heated by the bonfire. It had been prepared sometime earlier.

“If we are all here, let us begin,” said Casey. “Rasalas, since this is your first Beltane with us, I'll ask you to help light our bonfire.”

“I... thank you. What do I have to do?”

“Have you ever used a flint and steel before?”

Rasalas looked at her sideways.

“I'll help,” Brady offered, “I've used it.”

“Here then.”

“Why can't 'ya just use a lighter?” Corey questioned.

“The fire has to be started using natural means,” Casey explained, while Brady taught Rasalas how to use the flint rock against the bar of steel to make sparks. It took a bit of practice, before Rasalas understood how it worked.

As the fire took hold, Casey said, “Spread in a circle and join hands.”

She waited for everyone to join hands, before continuing, “Great mother of the earth, heavenly father of men, thank you. Thank you for gifting us with your presence on this, one of the holiest days.

“We thank you for your unending love and protection through the darkness, and now as we cycle back into the light, we ask you once again lend your blessings and protection of person, home, kin, and nourishment.”

“Great mother,” said Ryan, “W-w-watch over us as we m-m-move to meet your great followers, help us to s-s-seek the lessens and guidance from your holy isle, that we m-m-m-might bring your message t-t-to those who have forgotten it.

“I th-th-thank you for the new path you have set me on, and ask for your strength and guidance as I f-f-follow it.”

Rasalas hesitated before speaking, “Mother goddess, you have named me your champion. Though these past months have been a challenge, I still thank you for them, for they only make me stronger. I accept the role you have chosen me for, to be your messenger, and equally look forward to meeting your great sisterhood on your holy isle. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” said Ryan.

“So mote it be,” said Casey.

“Amen,” Brady whispered, with his brother and mother following suit.

It was then the fire seemed to flare up, shooting to nearly double its height, if only for a few seconds. At the same time, an unmistakable surge of energy went out in all directions. It made the hair on everyone’s arms stand on end, as though the air around them were charged with electricity.

Casey and Ryan simply bowed their heads a moment.

“Did you feel it?” asked Aaron.

“Oh yeah. It was magical,” said Rasalas, with a grin, as everyone let go each others' hands.

“Touched by the great mother,” said Ryan, “Just like b-b-back at Samhain.”

Brady and his family remained silent. Most definitely they'd all felt it, but... to acknowledge it... would also instill doubt. Brady had to admit though... the wording had been a nice touch. It had been hard enough to get his mother to join the ceremony at all.

Phil, meanwhile, used a pair of oven mitts, and moved the large pot to the edge of the fire, while Aaron brought over some chairs so everyone could sit down.

“In the old times, the entire village would participate,” said Casey, “They would dance around the fire, or leap through it, even. If they had livestock, they would be led around it—or in much older times, through it—with the belief the fire would grant protection over the herd when it was put out to pasture.”

“I find this fascinating,” said Sirius, “My family never participated in any ritual like this. At least not for their own blessing, I know that for sure. Their rituals were generally targeted at cursing their enemies, or other such rot.”

“Our ancestors were a dark lot, Padfoot.”

“How far back does your family go, Mr. Black?”

“Hundreds of years, Mrs. Gibson. Perhaps not back to Merlin, but at least seven or eight hundred years. If anything, Harry—or Rasalas' blood line may be older, being descended from the Peverells. We can trace them back to before Merlin.”

“That means I could claim the estate, could I not?” asked Rasalas.

“There's nothing about claiming it,” Sirius chuckled, “You have the right to be addressed as Lord Peverell.”

Casey blinked. “A Lord? As in a peer of the realm?”

“I don't know if he would have standing in the English House of Lords or not, but he most definitely carries a fair bit of weight with the English Wizengamot. However... before you get ideas of just storming into the place—”

“Wouldn't dream of it. No way I'm ready for that kind of challenge, Padfoot.”

“Good. Exactly as I was about to say. There are still many things you need to learn before you attempt such a thing. As it stands, you would control both the Peverell and Potter seats—though I believe Albus has been holding those by proxy.”

“Can I assign a different proxy?”

“I would keep the Peverell linage quiet for now, Rasalas. But otherwise, yes, you can.”

“Can you suggest someone? Someone who isn't going to automatically agree with Dumbledore, preferably.”

“Either Amelia Bones, or Augusta Longbottom. I don't know if you remember Neville or not, but Augusta is his grandmother. Amelia, meanwhile, is the head of DMLE. Both tend to be pretty impartial when it comes to matters before the Wizengamot, and they tend to vote together on issues.”

“How would I carry out the change?”

“You would draft two letters. The first going to Dumbledore, announcing your change of assignment. The second, goes to the person you choose as your new proxy. Both are automatically copied and filed with the clerk of the Wizengamot and will become part of the public record.”

“It'll have to wait until tomorrow afternoon or evening—actually... Sirius, could you see to it?”

“But you'll need to approve it and send it out.”

“I'll want Kate to have a look at them as well. And if anything, it might be better if it goes through her office anyway. The solicitor acting on my behalf, makes it a little more official, right?”

Sirius smirked. “I don't know which Albus will hate more.”

“Oh, he'll hate me much more by the time I'm through with him. Kate's still digging into his history.”

“All right, I think that's enough of such discussion,” said Casey, frowning, “This is supposed to be a light occasion.”

“Yeah. Gettin' back to this nobility stuff... can't believe you're titled, Ras,” said Brady, shaking his head.

“Just as surprised as you are. But hey, if it lets me mete out justice, all the better. It just gives me a much bigger club to come at people with.”

“Boys! Enough!” Casey scolded them again.

Soon after, the Caudle was heated and ready to be served. Rasalas produced mugs from his pouch, having collected them earlier, so they wouldn't have to trek back into the house for them. The drink was a mixture of ale, egg yolks, sugar, wheat starch, and ginger. Rasalas thought it tasted all right, but the consistency was... weird. It was something to be sampled sparsely, that much was for certain.

The night wore on, and it was only natural that Brady fetched his guitar. Rasalas was once again in heaven, hearing him sing. And with Phil playing the fiddle, others also lent their voices to song. Rasalas was surprised to hear Aaron... the guy could carry a tune quite well, never mind Brady's mother.

The biggest surprise, however, came from Ryan.

“This is probably g-g-gonna suck, and I'm only gonna sing a few words of it, but—”

“Jus' go for it,” Brady encouraged him.

Ryan closed his eyes and began:

 

_They fashion streets out of the rock_  
_Struck up statues to their gods_  
_And hung up flight on every corner they made_

_We are charged spoil in to go_  
_Bring me back to where I'm from_  
_A billion molecules are landing on, on your heart_

_Pulse in with life_  
_Pulse in with life_  
_Pulse in with life_  


_My home is where you are_  
_And every beat and every beat_  
_we're closer_

_My home is where you are_  
_And every beat and every beat_  
_we're closer(1)_

 

With Brady quickly improvising, and Phil joining in, it was just... magical, for lack of a better term. The ginger-haired young man had shocked them all yet again. He received a warm round of applause for his efforts.

“Dude... that was beautiful,” said Aaron, who then proceeded to kiss him senseless.

“Aaron... g-g-great goddess, you're scarin' the g-g-guests.”

As it neared 11:30, Rasalas excused himself, pulling Aaron, Ryan, and Brady along.

“We need to make final preparations for our... trip,” Rasalas explained, “We'll set the port key off out here though, so there'll be time for farewells.”

They quickly entered the house, climbed the stairs, entered the sanctuary. Rasalas noted the planetarium doors were sealed, and though he didn't remember doing it earlier, he detected the owner-level lock. Opening it then would be disastrous.

“C'mon, back to my room.”

They headed for Brady and Rasalas' room, and stepped inside after unlocking it.

“What are we doing in here? Don't—”

“Aaron. Just a 'sec.”

Rasalas reached into his jumper, and pulled out the strange amulet and the chain he wore.

“Get close to me... good.”

Rasalas then draped the chain around all four of them.

“What... Ras... what're 'ya doin'?”

“Trust me.”

Rasalas then began to turn the little knob, flipping the hourglass. One... two... three... four... five... six... seven. Seven times. At first, nothing seemed to be changing... until Brady caught a glimpse of the clock sitting on Rasalas' bedside table. The hands were spinning wildly in reverse. As if... and now he knew. The device Rasalas was using... it was identical to the much larger device he also owned. They were quite literally unwinding time.

The clock at last stopped running backwards, and Rasalas removed the amulet's chain from around his friends' necks.

“What happened?” Aaron asked.

“We gone back in time, haven't we?”

“Got it in one. This...” Rasalas pointed to his amulet, “Is a time-turner. None of you can tell anyone I have it... Sirius knows—I mean, he gave it to me... and Hermione... because she's had one before... but no one else knows. This stuff is very dangerous.”

“But why? Why did we—”

“We need sleep,” Brady guessed, to which Rasalas gave a nod.

“We've travelled back seven hours. I'm setting the alarm for 11:25. We'll need to be in the planetarium before 11:30, since that's when we arrived here.”

Brady then had an 'ah-ha' moment. “Now I get why 'ya locked the door to the room.”

“Exactly. We won't be bothered until we're in the planetarium. Now come on. Let's get some rest. And to be sure...” He opened up the potions cabinet, and took out four sleeping draughts.

* * *

All too soon, Rasalas felt someone prodding at his side.

“Ras... alarm's goin'.”

“What? Oh. Right. C'mon you lot, we need to get up,” said Rasalas, sleepily.

His dream had been a good one, of him riding his broom, Brady on the back, with them high above a beautiful island surrounded by an immense lake. Both Ryan and Aaron were along, on their own brooms, and Brady was singing something in his ear, the lyrics of which he couldn't remember.

“What?”

“Good dream,” Rasalas admitted, as he got dressed, “Nice dreaming about you guys rather than that blasted door at the Department of Mysteries.”

“Well, your Occlumency helps, right?” Aaron pointed out, as he also quickly dressed.

“All right. You guys ready?”

“Yeah. Let's d-d-do this.”

Just as it rolled over to 11:30, Rasalas approached the door leading into the planetarium. As expected, it was unlocked, as apposed to when they approached it later... or earlier... or in the future past... or... Rasalas shook his head. Time-travel was confusing at times!

Rasalas, Brady, Aaron, and Ryan finally stepped into the planetarium. Rasalas then pulled the doors closed and locked them with the same locking charm.

“Right. We're in here until the port key is programmed.”

“What're we usin'?” asked Brady.

“This,” said Ryan, pulling a battered pie plate from his pouch.

“Good thing the machine is going to program it for us... I'm still a bit dodgy when it comes to port keys,” Rasalas muttered. “Someone get the map shifted to our position for now.”

“Got it,” said Aaron. He quickly scrolled the map back to the house. They had done plenty of exploring with the map, just to see whether or not the incredible detail covered the entire world—it did. They had seen some truly remarkable things, and some truly horrifying things, all in almost minute detail. The only thing the map did not reveal, was actual people. The map was not exactly live, though Rasalas had a suspicion it could be made so.

The next twenty or so minutes were spent reviewing the process—hence the return to the planetarium a half-hour beforehand. Rasalas was nearly confident the device could be used many times, but still wanted to be sure their first attempt was successful. It was the entire purpose of him receiving it in the first place.

“All right, guys. Show time,” said Aaron. He now held a page of paper in his hand with a number of figures written out on it. It was 11:50 pm.

“Right. Read us the numbers, and we'll program the dials.”

“First pair, set to six point three two five.”

“First pair, set to s-s-six point three two five,” said Ryan, adjusting the first pair of knobs. The projection jittered a moment.

“Second pair, set to zero point eight.”

“Second pair, set to zero point eight,” said Rasalas, who then adjusted the next knob. There were ten different sets of numerical dials that had to be set.

“Third pair, set to seven point three eight one.”

“Th-third pair to seven p-p-point three eight one,” Ryan parroted, configuring the next knob.

This was repeated for the rest of the knobs, and each time, the sky overhead jittered, sometimes only a little, other times, like mad, before coming to rest. Several times, they caught a glimpse of one of the planets. Other times, familiar constellations made their appearance.

Rasalas understood what they were truly doing: unwinding time in a virtual sense. The set of numbers they were programming into the planetarium would present an accurate reflection of the earth's position in the universe in that point of time.

The real magic, though, came from the temporal crystal he'd recovered from Faslane. This was the key to the whole operation.

“Last pair,” said Aaron, “Zero point zero zero zero.”

The sky shuddered again, and now when Rasalas looked down, the map was somewhat darker, and many of the features he'd gotten used to seeing were now gone. The fields were more brush-like, and the railroad tracks to the north of the property were gone. The group of numbers that they had assumed represented the date now read: 05 – 02 – 515.

Rasalas zoomed the map out, then refocused it on the U.K., and the marker that represented Faslane. Now, the marker read, OAKNEY.

“Bloody hell...”

“Language, Ras,” Ryan smirked. That earned a rude gesture.

“C'mon, we knew it would work, right,” said Rasalas, shifting the map. Now, instead of CADBURY SOUTH, was the label CAMELOT. He tapped the location with his wand, causing a large compass-like marker to appear.

“Ryan, put the pie plate on the marker.”

Ryan did as asked, and Rasalas touched it with his wand, speaking, “ _Tempus(2) Portus._ ”

Unlike with the creation of a typical port key, the pie plate shuddered and turned a brilliant green for a moment, before falling still. The entire centre pedestal had also momentarily lit up, showering the room in a brilliant green light before falling still.

Rasalas bent down and collected the port key. “Right. Let's warn the others we're going.”

“We need to make it quick. It's two minutes to the hour. We don't want the time to be too far out of synch.”

“Right.”

Rasalas quickly collected the orb from his room—the control orb had been moved in the middle of March, once they had collected everything of use from the island. The door into Ryan's room remained active, with them for the most part ignoring the default entrance out of simplicity.

They found everyone still gathered around the bonfire, which blazed as strongly as when first lit.

“Is it done?” asked Phil.

“It's ready. I'm pretty confident we'll be seeing each other in about twelve hours, if not sooner,” said Rasalas. But in case...”

“Rasalas. We've been through the plan a hundred times,” said Sirius, “Now go.”

“Be careful with my boy, Mr. Black,” said Betty.

“I promise. As I promise you, Mrs. Sawyer. I'll kill for them if I have to.” He produced the port key. “Gather around.”

Brady, Ryan, and Aaron quickly gathered around Rasalas, each getting a good grip on the pie plate.

“Three... two... one... _activate_!” The four of them vanished in a blur of limbs.

* * *

By now, Rasalas was more than accustomed to travelling by port key, particularly after their lengthy stay at the manor. He still had difficulty landing without falling over, but that was slowly improving... but the sensation, it was rather typical—up until now.

This time, when they were whisked away by this particular port key, it was a shock to the system. It was as if they'd entered a full-blown electrical storm, and Rasalas had to reach over and grab Ryan, as he was trying to let go. The wind twisted and whipped around them, with flashing lights of all colours. Everything then went painfully white, before complete darkness—

Suddenly, they found themselves free-falling...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: The arrival at Camelot brings about a rather awkward meeting._
> 
>  
> 
>  _CHAPTER NOTES: Electronics and magical surges do NOT work well together. Oops. Now, question is, did Garokat do it on purpose? No matter what, it would do some lasting damage to the economy, and that sort of thing has a nasty history to prove it so._  
> 
>  
> 
> _Brady, meanwhile, might have a different fight on his hands, all of it surrounding his faith. What happens when he meets the Lady of the Lake, and sets foot in the holy isle itself?_
> 
>  
> 
> _(1) “Home”, originally released as a single in 2009 and appears on the album “Volume”. Writers: John McDaid & Paul Van Dyk. Copyright (C) 2009. All rights reserved._


	21. Arrival at Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival at Camelot brings about a rather awkward meeting.

**204\. ARRIVAL AT CAMELOT**  
 **May 1, 515 / 2006**  


> “A blunder at the right moment is better than cleverness at the wrong time.”

  
\- Carolyn Wells

_Dawn, May 1, 515_  
 _Somewhere in southwestern Britain_

Merlin, great wizard of the Arthurian era, woke with a start. He was used to getting visions. Being a wizard, it was common, as much as it was for Viviane, High Priestess of Avalon and the _Lady of the Lake_.

This was more than a dream or a vision. Something was affecting his own magical core. The magic of Avalon for some reason felt different-stronger. Much stronger than it had been for all his life. If anything, the magic of Avalon had been waning, as more and more people turned away from it and the Goddess. What was causing this surge in the very heart of magical Britain?

Then, there was the vision itself. Four individuals—faces which did not belong. All of them were quite young, most of them just becoming of age, if that, and at least one of those was a powerful wizard. What were they doing here? Perhaps, they had something to do with what was happening in Avalon.

He sat up, and coaxed the small fire back to life, and took some time to reflect on what he'd just seen. How soon would Viviane know of this development? More importantly, where exactly was this taking place?

* * *

_Royal Bedchamber, Camelot_

The Beltane feast had been magnificent. They had indulged in perhaps more than they should have, but Arthur, high king of Britain, had ulterior motives in having his first knight and his wife assist him back to the bedchamber. Gwen believed herself at fault for the lack of an heir. Arthur believed that perhaps it was he himself at fault, and so orchestrated a potential solution.

He knew Lancelot fancied him as much as he fancied his wife. Gwenhwyfar had most certainly spoke out against such a terrible act, but Arthur had in the end convinced her to participate. “ _For years our forefathers have done these things without shame... in the faces of the very same gods who look over us tonight,_ ” he had said.

So it was, that on this early morning, the three of them lay in bed, soundly asleep. Gwenhwyfar lay in the middle, with Lancelot and Arthur on either side of her. The three of them had made love to each other for the better part of the early morning. The feat had not been all that difficult to pull off, considering Arthur most definitely had feelings for his first knight... and a few others, if he were honest with himself. Bishop Patricius might frown on such things, but really... the Goddess did not differentiate. The thing was, he needed an heir, and making love to Lancelot would most definitely not provide one.

Arthur was awakened by a soft body landing in the bed with them. That was followed a mere second later by three more soft bodies impacting with the floor of the tight quarters.

“Fuck...” came one voice, while the body which had fell on the bed was already scrambling.

“Aaron... w-w-w-where... God... oh God... j-j-j-j-just...”

“Shhh... shhh... it's all right,” said another. There came a flash of light and a bolt of energy struck the entrance outside of the chamber itself.

“He hurt somewhere?” came a voice belonging to the person who'd landed on the bed.

“No... no... the port key... looked messed up, like a thunderstorm.”

“Look after him. I'll... _Lumos_!” A point of light suddenly bloomed, revealing one of the strangers now in the room. “Bloody hell. No one move. I mean it!”

“Ras?”

“We... we're in someone's bedroom.”

“Yeah, figured that much.” The speaker had a really odd accent, Arthur thought. Whoever they were, they were harmless. Wizards, perhaps, but harmless.

“Arthur?! Who are these people?” Gwenhwyfar demanded.

“A question I would see answered,” said Arthur.

“Arthur... as in... _Merlin's pants_!” Rasalas exclaimed, nearly dropping his wand in shock.

“Well... no, I do not have Merlin's clothes, but my lady's question still remains unanswered,” said Arthur, looking confused.

Rasalas could feel his face getting very hot, now having embarrassed himself in front of the most powerful man in the country. He forced himself to calm down and recompose himself.

“My name is Rasalas, your majesty. I apologize for invading your home in such a manner.”

“Your arrival was most unusual,” said a third voice, sitting up. Rasalas resisted raising his eyebrows. They had obviously interrupted something other than sleep.

“We have been sent by the great mother, to seek your sister. We need her help with a serious matter in our world,” said Rasalas.

He glanced at the floor, where Aaron was still trying to console Ryan. He was quite literally shaking like a leaf.

“Ryan?”

“It's... I'm... that... that w-w-wasn't okay!” he moaned.

“Ras... you have a calming draught?”

“Your majesty, forgive me. We need a moment before...”

“By all means,” said Arthur, “It seems your journey was with complications.”

“I'm s-s-s-sorry,” Ryan sobbed... “God oh G-g-god...”

“Ryan... I'm right here,” Aaron soothed, cradling him and rubbing his back.

“Wha's wrong with 'im?” Brady asked, having untangled himself and climbed to his feet.

“Thunder and lightning,” Aaron explained, “The port key... it was like we were hurled through a violent electrical storm. It's... it's his worst nightmare.”

Now everyone in the room understood at least part of the issue.

“Ryan, here,” said Rasalas, producing a vial. Aaron accepted it instead, and helped the young wizard drink it.

“Better?”

“I... j-j-j-just g-give me a m-m-moment...” Ryan sucked in a few breaths, feeling the potion do its job. “G-g-god... acting like a b-b-baby. I'm s-s-s-sorry g-guys.”

“Deep breaths. C'mon, it's gone. You're safe.”

“I know... j-just...”

Aaron hauled himself to his feet, then helped Ryan up. Now, Arthur could see Ryan was the tallest person there, taller than most of his knights, if he had to guess.

“Your majesty, I present my companions, Ryan, Aaron, and Brady. I again apologize for invading your space in such a way, it was as much a shock to us as it was all of you.”

“I see,” said Arthur. “You seem to already know of my identity, but I do introduce my first knight, Lancelot, and my queen, Gwenhwyfar.”

Rasalas bowed his head. “We're honoured to be in your presence, sirs... and my lady.”

Lancelot swung his legs over the side of the bed, though keeping a blanket about his midsection since he was still nude. Gwenhwyfar, meanwhile, also wrapped up in a blanket, cast hateful glares at the three boys who dared invade their privacy.

“How is it you've managed to just be dropped into our chamber as it was?” Lancelot asked.

“A complex port key, sir,” answered Aaron, “We knew it would work, just not sure of how accurate.”

“W-w-well, we did p-put the pointer r-r-right on t-t-t-top of the c-c-castle, Aaron.”

“It's okay... you're safe,” Aaron continued to placate him. Ryan was still visibly shaking.

“J-j-just bear w-w-with me... I'll b-b-be fine.”

“We'll keep that in mind for future such journeys,” said Rasalas, “Once again we really do apologize. Bloody hell, never thought I would meet the three of you in this... uh...”

“It is quite all right, young wizard. Now as to meeting my sister, you are in luck, as she is here at the castle,” said Arthur, his eyes dancing with amusement. “She will be more than eager to meet with you, I am certain.”

“Arthur... no. These people... summon the guards, have them removed,” Gwenhwyfar pleaded.

“My love, I am certain they mean no harm.”

Gwenhwyfar huffed, and continued to glare daggers at the intruders.

“I assume, all of you are magical?” asked Lancelot.

“No, not me,” answered Aaron “I'm just a Muggle, as they call it.”

“Same here,” said Brady, “Ras here an' Ryan are the wizard folk.”

“A Muggle? Such a term does not sound all that friendly.”

Rasalas frowned a moment. He'd never thought of it that way. Really, it actually did. Sounded like something of lesser intelligence.

“Then we would equally be considered such,” said Arthur.

Rasalas shook his head and grinned.

“Your mother was a powerful witch, in the service of Avalon. It's quite possible you're a wizard, sir.”

That earned another hateful glare from Gwenhwyfar, though she still remained silent up to this point. Though, in all honesty, she'd never considered the possibility. What this young  _heathen_ was saying did make some sense.

“A heathen... s-s-she th-th-thinks we're heathens,” Ryan muttered, giving Gwenhwyfar a hateful glare of his own.

“Really now?”

Meanwhile, Gwenhwyfar's eyes went wide.

“Arthur! Have them taken away! Evil is at work here—“

Rasalas gave a gesture with his wand, speaking, “ _Silencio_ !”

Gwenhwyfar found she was unable to make a sound.

“Apologies, sir, but... last thing we need is to be at odds with your men.”

Arthur frowned, but put a hand on Gwenhwyfar's shoulder. She swatted it away, and gave him a frosty glare.

“Listen, dearest, they have business of great import, and do not intrude here lightly.”

That did nothing to reassure her, as Lancelot fetched her clothes from the floor and passed them to her.

“If Arthur is magical, then perhaps, so might I be,” he said.

Rasalas chuckled. “If you're not magical, then neither am I. If the  _Lady of the Lake_ cannot produce a magical child, then we're in—“

“D-d-d-deep shit,” Ryan finished, giving a weak smile. It quickly left him.

That got a laugh out of Arthur, and another hateful glare from his wife. Her world was falling apart, and fast, it was that simple. She was about ready to explode, with this latest revelation. It was enough Arthur's sister was a witch; now, apparently, Arthur himself might be a sorcerer! As she could still make no sound, she began to cry, for it was all she had left. Arthur tried to console her, but she lashed out at him, and both he and Lancelot ended up restraining her.

“Perhaps the maidens might be of help with this.” Arthur thought aloud.

“Allow me. I shan't take long,” Lancelot offered, throwing on his tunic, and securing his scabbard and belt around his waist.

Rasalas flicked his wand at the doorway, muttering a spell. It shimmered a moment, as Lancelot left the room.

“Might I ask what it was you just did?” asked Arthur.

“I cast a silencing charm on the door. Until we were sure you lot wouldn't start shouting for your knights, we had to play it safe.”

“I see. It does make sense,” Arthur agreed.

“Shit, though, this could have ended up much worse,” said Aaron, “We've not tested the accuracy of the marker in the planetarium.”

Arthur once again tried to console his wife, who was once again casting death glares at the boys. That only earned more swats and swipes from her. Rasalas grew tired of it, and pointed his wand at her. “ _Stupefy_ .”

She slumped against her husband.

“I apologize for doing so, but she's bordering on hysterical.”

“How 'bout a calming draught?” Brady suggested.

“Good thought.”

Rasalas reached into his pouch, and summoned a calming draught.

“Sire, if you could help me by propping her head up, this will help calm her down.”

Arthur quickly laid her out, and propped her head up, while Rasalas unstoppered the vial, and gently pried her mouth open. He then tipped the contents into her mouth, and messaged the throat to get it to go down. He waited a few seconds, then revived her.

It was just in time for Lancelot to return, along with Elaine and the maidens. The maidens seemed confused at the extra number of people in the room, but quickly tended to the visibly shaken queen.

“Come, my lady, and freshen up for breakfast.”

“Go, my wife, and I will see you at breakfast,” Arthur promised.

Gwenhwyfar gave him a bewildered look before being led out of the room by her attending maidens. Arthur watched her go, still in a haze about what was going on. The first question, the one he'd been meaning to ask from the get-go.

“From where have you travelled, young wizards?”

“M-m-more like, from when,” answered Ryan, “Ras, should we sh-show them?”

“Likely we would have anyway, and we need to see if the door leading back to your room still works,” said Rasalas.

He reached into his pouch, and pulled out a sphere that was a deep purple, almost black shade. From what Arthur and Lancelot could see, it was covered in small symbols. It had to be about the size of a small pumpkin. Rasalas looked around the room a moment, before picking a bare spot along the wall, and setting it down. He then touched it with his wand.

Incredibly, the object instantly vanished, as two lines etched out along the seam between the floor and the wall, until they were three feet apart, before then rising straight up to six and a half feet, before merging once again to form a rectangle on the wall. An opening then seemed to materialize, instead of a door, revealing a room on the other side.

“Astounding!” said Lancelot, while Arthur simply gazed at it, mouth agape.

“Uh, Ras... I think you broke him,” Aaron laughed.

“I am spelled speechless, young wizard,” Arthur finally managed.

“Follow us, and we'll show you how we landed in your bedroom,” said Rasalas.

Arthur picked up his belt and scabbard, and secured them to his waist, before following the group into the chamber that had been suddenly added to his bedchamber. They passed through another doorway, and into the common room.

“Welcome to my sanctuary,” said Rasalas, “The decoration is from another castle I was at one time familiar with, makes me feel at home, that sort of thing.”

Indeed, the room was still dressed like the Gryffindor common room back at Hogwarts, although the room's shape had changed somewhat. The fireplace had a fire crackling merrily in the grate, and a set of couches and chairs looked more than inviting.

He pointed to an archway on the left side of the fireplace. “Dining room and the kitchen through there. But this is what got us here.”

He led them into the planetarium.

“My word...” All Lancelot could do is cast his eyes on the enormous map of the night sky that was projected on the ceiling of the half-spherical room.

“I find myself also astounded, Lance,” said Arthur. 

His eyes were fixed not on the sky being projected above, but at the map that seemed to make up the floor.

“Let me show you something,” said Rasalas. 

He panned the map a little to the west, focusing on Glastonbury.

“This should seem familiar, Lance, even without the marker.”

“This is truly astounding.”

“It is.” Rasalas zoomed the map in to its closest magnification. “It won't show a live picture, but the detail is incredibly close.”

“W-w-we don't know what feeds it th-th-the information it has,” said Ryan.

“Thing is, when we set up the... device here... to send us to Camelot, we didn't expect it to quite literally drop us in the middle of your bedroom. It's more accurate than we appreciated.”

“This contraption did not come from here, did it?” asked Arthur.

“Actually, it did,” answered Rasalas, “It's one of a pair of objects. I don't know if the second one is capable of what this one is, but... it's truly astounding magic at work.”

“Yet, travelling from location to location is not all you have done. The things you have here, they are not from here,” said Lancelot.

“Come back out into the main room, and take a seat,” Rasalas invited.

Arthur and Lancelot followed Rasalas and his three friends back out to the main room, and settled into the comfortable couches in front of the fireplace.

“Your assumptions are pretty close to the truth,” said Rasalas, “The planetarium not only allows us to move from place to place, but across time as well.”

“From how far in the future have you come?” asked Arthur.

“Fourteen hundred years, wasn't it?” said Brady.

“Fourteen-hundred and eighty-one years,” Aaron corrected him, “Two-thousand-six.”

“But surely—“ Lancelot began.

“There are a good number of things that even magic can't do,” said Rasalas, “Time travel is something that is definitely possible, with some limits of its own.”

“Shit we ain't got time to get into,” said Brady.

“Please don't ask us about the future, if we tell you, it could be disastrous,” Rasalas warned, “We have all been warned about the dangers of playing with time. Just meeting with you is dangerous in itself.”

“Why would it be considered dangerous?” asked Arthur, confused.

“Because you now know of us, and you've got a glimpse into the future. It will affect everything you do from now on. You might try not to allow that, but it will happen anyway.”

“We c-c-c-could Obliviate th-th-them once w-w-we're done here.”

“No. We have no idea how long we're going to be here,” Rasalas answered, “We will be seen by more than Arthur and Lancelot.”

“You seek the assistance of Avalon.”

“Back where I belong, the Goddess has named me her champion. But without access to Avalon, she has sent me here—or provided me the tools so I might arrive here.”

“Why would such measure need to be taken?” asked Lancelot.

“The world is out of balance, her words exactly. There is a dark wizard at work. He sees me as his equal, and has already tried to kill me on a number of occasions,” Rasalas explained, “The magic of Avalon is much purer than ours.”

“Then perhaps, we will help you obtain it,” Arthur promised. He had to stifle a yawn.

“Gods... we again apologize,” said Rasalas.

“We received little sleep,” said Arthur.

“W-w-why not get a l-l-l-little more rest? We have a f-f-f-few things w-w-w-we need t-t-to look after as it is,” Ryan suggested.

“Just, I would ask you not touch anything in here, there are things that could be unsafe. Are there any young children in the castle presently?”

“No, and there has not for some time,” Arthur answered. It was hard not to miss the pained look that flashed across his face.

“That's one less worry. Unlocked potions cabinet and young children, not a good combination.”

Lancelot furrowed his brow a moment, until he understood what Rasalas had meant.

“We should figure out how to put a proper door over the opening as well, in case we want to actually lock it,” said Aaron.

“Yeah, agreed.” Rasalas glanced at Arthur and Lancelot. “Not that we don't want you visiting, but...”

“You might wish a certain level of privacy,” Arthur finished.

“Exactly. Though we do have our own rooms for sleeping.”

“Come, sire. Let us get more rest.”

Lancelot had stood up, and offered a hand. Arthur took it, and was helped to his feet.

“We will speak again with more rest,” said Arthur, as Lancelot led him back out to the bedchamber.

“Gods... that went a little better than I'd hoped, in a way,” said Rasalas, standing. “Give me a moment.”

He went out into the parlour, and put a silencing charm on the doorway. He could see both Arthur and Lancelot were again laying down in the same bed, and had to smirk. There was a rumour they loved each other as much as they both loved Gwenhwyfar... and it seemed there was substance to it.

“Rather f-f-funny, actually. God, Brady, you landed on top of L-l-lancelot. P-p-probably not the wake up call he'd wanted.”

“Yeah, very funny,” Brady scowled, “'cept it wasn't.”

“Moving right along... We'll probably have a couple of hours before they're awake again. Seems like they were preoccupied until only an hour or so ago.”

“Y-y-yeah. Lance and Arthur doing each other,” Ryan smirked.

“Seriously?” Aaron raised his eyebrows, as did Brady.

“Strongly doubt Gwenhwyfar approved. I think she's about ready to explode, with the latest revelations.”

“D-d-d-didn't see. B-b-but she's getting a bit of a r-r-reckoning, sure of that much.”

“What, you mean, her ' _good little Christian_ ' image being further shredded?” Aaron said, nastily.

“Something along that line. But we know already, the woman's a snake. Wanting a trophy husband and all that tripe.”

Brady glared at Aaron. “don' say that.”

“C'mon, Brady, you read the same stuff I did. It was all about her image and nothing more.”

“R-r-right. Well let's see if this door still works,” said Ryan, wanting to avoid an argument.

He crossed the room, and gave the door knob a try. It opened easily, revealing his room back at home.

“God... unbelievable.” Rasalas blew out a breath. There had been a risk that it wouldn't work, but... there it was, Ryan's room back at the Sawyers.

“W-w-well... let's go, t-t-tell the others we're still... well... we w-w-won't be out of c-c-contact.”

They all stepped through into Ryan's room, passed through the house and out to the back yard. Sure enough, everyone was still gathered at the bonfire, finishing off the last of the warm drink they'd made.

“Great goddess!” Casey exclaimed, spotting them approaching.

“Gotta love magic,” Rasalas grinned, as he found himself again enveloped in a hug by his godfather.

“Good grief, boy, you were gone less than an hour,” said Casey, as they all took seats. “Where did you land?”

“Y-y-y-you w-w-won't believe it unless w-w-w-we show y-y-you.”

“What happened?” Casey all but demanded, now getting a look at her boy.

“The port key was like riding through a lightning storm,” Aaron explained, “He's still a little shaken up.”

“G-g-getting better, Ma. Ras g-g-gave me a calming d-d-draught.”

“We landed in Arthur's bedroom by accident,” said Rasalas, “I think if anything, Ryan's distress put them at ease that we weren't a threat. Not sounding callous or anything...”

“N-n-no, no offence t-t-taken.”

“Y'all landed in the king's bedroom,” Corey deadpanned.

“I shit you not,” said Brady. “Never expected...”

“Yeah... that landing was awkward to say the least,” Rasalas agreed, “Arthur sure as hell won't forget, nor will his companions.”

“Companions?” questioned Casey, now very curious.

“It was a rumour, Mrs. Sawyer,” said Aaron, “Now confirmed to be true.”

“Yeah, but we also know that Arthur loved Lancelot as much as he loved Gwenhwyfar, right? Good on him, all I have to say,” said Rasalas.

“Well, this is a great piece of news,” said Phil, “Knowing all of you will be able to attend the steam festival on the Labour Day weekend.”

“Yeah, need to get the schedule final,” said Brady.

“And with you being confirmed to be there, all the better. I'm already speaking with the senior members of the club. And Rasalas, something I wanted to ask you, and haven't had the time... you did offer to let us expand the miniature railway. Are you still willing?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I'd love to see some sort of... maybe a water tower and so on built on my side. You guys know more about that stuff than I do, so I'll leave it in your hands.”

Ryan grinned. “D-d-damn. That's g-g-gonna be awesome.”

“Thing is, we won't be around here all that much, once we get in contact with Avalon. Arthur confirmed that his sister is in the castle, so I'll likely meet her either later today, or within the next day or two.

“If all goes well, we'll be training in Avalon most days. I'm not kidding around. This is all of dire importance.”

“We know, kiddo. But there are things here that will need your attention from time to time.”

“Which is where Fawkes can help out. With a solid connection through the sanctuary, it should be no trouble for him to reach us,” said Rasalas. “So any important messages, we can come back if we need to.”

“Good. Label's gonna wanna keep in touch,” said Brady. He pulled his cap off and rubbed his head. “God, can't believe we did this, y'know. Goin' back, what, fourteen-hundred years? Never would've thought...”

“Trust me, it's just as incredible for me, Brady,” said Rasalas, “We have done things very few wizards have done... _ever_. And for someone non-magical... you and Aaron are probably the first.”

He thought of something else.

“Uh... something else to bear in mind. Camelot is five hours ahead of us, running on London time. If it's quiet in the sanctuary, there may be people asleep. And for now, I'd rather we keep the number of people going into Camelot to a minimum. I'd rather not overwhelm the people there with our rubbish.”

“And likewise, I would suggest we not permit anyone from Camelot to come into the house,” said Casey, “That way we limit their exposure to our world.”

“Yeah, somewhat ahead of you on that. I agree.”

“'ya look ready for bed, mom,” said Corey.

“Feel about ready for bed.”

“C'mon. I'll take 'ya up.”

Brady and Corey both stood up, and Brady gave his mother a hug.

“Glad you're still with us,” she whispered to him.

“So 'm I.”

Sometime later, Rasalas and his friends retreated back to the house, leaving Sirius with Casey and Phil. Rasalas needed to make a couple of adjustments to the room, and continue with the research, since it looked like they would have a couple of hours yet.

The modification was rather simple, enlarging the parlour by a third, and changing the opening that led back into Arthur's bedchamber so it included a proper door. It was as simple as projecting his wishes to the chamber, and watching it come to life. A second change was to include a clock over the three doors, so one could be sure of what the time was in the location the door represented. Aaron had mentioned it earlier, right? Now, it was a necessity.

Shortly before 9 am (4 am local), Arthur again stepped into the sanctuary, followed shortly after by Lancelot.

“Sir,” Rasalas greeted, rising. Aaron and Ryan quickly followed, with Brady being last.

“We are unsure of whether you have had breakfast already. No matter, come, and be honoured guests,” said Arthur.

“I see you have made a change to your chamber,” Lancelot noted.

“It was a matter of me asking the room to change it. And yes, for privacy, which most certainly goes both ways. If there is a better suggestion for the location of the door, I'm willing to move it. Preferably, though, I would rather the connection not be in a public area of the castle, if that makes sense.”

“W-w-we have a connection back to our own time, and n-n-not just anyone should know about that.”

“I see your issue,” said Arthur, as they passed through the bedchamber, and into the common area of the suite. “Perhaps, there.” 

He pointed to a vacant spot against the wall.

“This is still a part of my private chamber.”

“Do you have guest quarters? They'd l-l-likely be more appropriate, sir.”

“Arthur trusts your company,” said Lancelot.

“You trust rather easily,” said Rasalas, “Knowing someone all of a few hours and you let us into the private part of your home willingly.”

“Had you wished us harm, we would likely already be dead, Rasalas,” the king pointed out.

Rasalas could only give a weak smile. “You are kind, sir. If the tables were reversed, I would not have given such a warm welcome.”

“Let these matters be put to rest. Come. Allow me to introduce you all to my royal court, and have breakfast.”

He was already leading them down some stairs, and through a small corridor. That opened up into a large octagonal room with an enormous hearth at one end, in which a fire was blazing brightly. At the centre of the room was an equally enormous circular table, with many seats around it. A number of people were already present, with breakfast already out.

Arthur's wife was already seated, and as she spotted him, she gave him another bewildered look. Rasalas could easily guess her thoughts—she was simply overwhelmed with the events that had happened, on top of the new information now in front of her. He didn't dare guess how things would end up, though he had a strong suspicion her relationship with her husband had been irreparably damaged—not that it would matter too much in the future as it was, if their research was correct.

“Friends, fellow knights,” Arthur spoke, “We are honoured to have three guests who have travelled far to attend my court. They are here on an urgent matter that is of secret nature. However I ask you all to extend the courtesies you would extend me. I introduce Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron who will be joining us for an indeterminate period.”

Four places were vacated, directly opposite the king's seat. Rasalas and his friends quickly occupied them, and Rasalas could feel all the eyes in the room on him. After all, they had most certainly not changed their clothes before activating the port key, and so their outfits stood out compared to what was worn by the occupants of the castle.

It was at that time that a woman stepped into the room from another passageway. She was immediately followed by a man in simple robes. He had dark hair and a strange marking tattooed over his left eye.

“Good morning, my sister!” Arthur greeted, “Your arrival is timely. Come, meet four guests who have only arrived early this morning.”

He indicated Rasalas and his friends. “I introduce Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron. Friends, I introduce my sister, Morgaine.”

At that, Rasalas and his three friends rose, and bowed. They'd decided on how to act when introduced, figuring this would be the best way to show respect to a priestess of Avalon.

“Well then! Welcome,” said Morgaine, taking up a seat a few spots to the right of Lancelot. The dark-haired man took the one beside her.

Arthur suppressed a smirk, but asked, “All is well, Accolon?”

“All is well, sire.”

Ryan and Aaron shared a look, and Rasalas had to suppress a smirk of his own, knowing full-well what Morgaine and the dark-haired knight had been up to.

“What brings you to Camelot?” questioned Accolon.

“W-w-we need to speak with Morgaine, and hopefully high-p-p-priestess Viviane,” said Ryan.

“Sister, when breakfast is completed, would you join us?”

“Of course. I expect quite the tale from our visitors.”

“It is, my lady,” answered Rasalas, “All you need to know, the Goddess you serve is behind our presence here.”

“You follow the old ways, then,” said Accolon.

“N-n-not exactly, sir. I believe in the embodiment of the Goddess, that everything that is, everything we are... it comes from h-her. Ma and I practice a few of the rituals during s-s-samhain and Beltane, particularly.”

“Well. You missed out on our festivities last night,” said another knight, “There was much drink to be had.”

“We decided it wouldn't be wise to just land in the middle of such an event,” said Rasalas, “Our arrival might not have been taken well.”

“W-w-we held our own Beltane bonfire b-b-b-before we t-travelled here, the embers still b-b-b-burn as I speak. Our c-c-c-calendar matches y-yours, and I bid all of y-y-you a happy Beltane. The goddess b-b-b-blessed us with a successful j-j-journey here.”

Aaron reached over, and gave his shoulder a squeeze in encouragement. His words were met with warm smiles and raised goblets.

“Likewise, blessed be, and a happy Beltane,” said Rasalas, “I'm still relatively new to the old religion... if that's even possible, but know that the goddess has touched me personally recently, and it is on her instruction I find myself here.”

“Is that so?” questioned Morgaine, “May I ask in what way?”

“I don't wish to go into detail in front of so many faces,” Rasalas answered, “There are a lot of things that need to remain secret.”

“Of course.”

“And you would not instead follow the teachings of God?” questioned another. He was dressed in well-fitted crimson robes, an ornate crucifix hanging around his neck.

“I don't deny his existence. Brady and Aaron both follow the Christian god, but... it is the goddess who has directly spoken to me, sir.”

Rasalas' comment had Brady immediately fingering his own crucifix, while Aaron frowned.

He finally spoke up, saying, “I subscribe to the teachings of Jesus... but I do not follow the church. And really, we're not here to discuss which religion is right and other shit.”

“D-drew...”

“What?”

“Let's not alienate half the castle,” said Rasalas.

“Sorry.”

That brought silence to the table for several minutes. It was clear that, even though the newcomers were young, they had an agenda, and weren't afraid of speaking their minds on the matter. Gradually, the noise in the room picked up as people began talking amongst themselves, the matter forgotten. Rasalas was more than thankful when it ended, though, not liking the spotlight. He'd felt more than a few eyes on him the entire time.

So it was, that Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, Aaron, Arthur, Lancelot, Morgaine, and Accolon returned to Arthur's bedchamber. The maidens had once again looked after Gwenhwyfar, since she was still clearly unhappy with the unexpected guests.

When they stepped into the sanctuary, Arthur and Lancelot found it had been changed yet again, to now provide a smaller copy of the round table in the castle's great hall.

“I thought you might find this more suitable,” Rasalas explained.

Morgaine, simply gazed around for a few moments.

“This is extraordinary magic,” she at last said, “You say the mother Goddess sent you here?”

“I did,” answered Rasalas, “And if my guesses are right, she gave me the tools to do so, including this sanctuary. Let's take a seat.”

“I hope you don't mind if Accolon joins us, just as additional security. Though I do trust you, some of my fellow knights grow uneasy at your unexpected arrival,” said Arthur.

“No, it's perfectly fine,” answered Rasalas, “I could understand some of them were likely put out by Aaron's comments at breakfast.”

“Yeah, s-s-seriously, Aaron, last thing w-w-we need is for them to throw us out of the castle on our asses. B-b-by the looks of a few, they were about ready to.”

That got an amused look from Arthur.

“The final decision still rests with me, and though your comments might have upset a few, you only spoke your opinion.”

“Thank you. We're certainly not here to make enemies, I have enough as it is already back where I come from. The matter at hand, as a matter of fact. There is a dark wizard at work who threatens the existence of the world itself, if he is allowed to continue unchecked. He believes I have the power to defeat him for good, and so has attempted to kill me on a number of occasions—starting when I was just over a year old.”

“Only a monster would attack a baby,” said Accolon, a dark look crossing his face.

“I think then, this paints the kind of individual our world faces. I faced him again when I was eleven, and it was only through a very powerful protective charm my mother placed on me that I was able to survive.

“I faced him again a year later, and only some extraordinary tools allowed me to once again defeat him. Fawkes?” he called out, to no one in particular.

A crimson and yellow coloured bird fluttered in from another room, to land on the table in front of Rasalas.

“This is Fawkes.”

“He is beautiful,” said Morgaine, “I have seen one of his kind, perhaps once.”

“Then you know what he is. For those who don't, he's a phoenix. Their tears have extraordinary healing powers, they can lift insanely heavy loads, and they're as close to immortal as a being can get.”

“They do live incredibly long lives,” Morgaine agreed, as the bird lifted off and fluttered over to her. “Their magic is truly ancient, even here in our world.”

“I know there has been at least one more attack, but I don't know of the details, because of something else that has happened last summer. Someone nearly killed me while I was walking along the side of the road. The damage was so bad, I have very few memories of my life before then. I have a pretty good idea of my life, thanks to a few more friends... but nothing first-hand.

“Ryan and Aaron are two of my closest friends, and Brady here... perhaps the closest of all, because without him, I would've died back in August.”

“And now it becomes clear why they travel with you,” said Arthur, “To suffer such hardship in your young life.”

“Though we know your life has been by no means easy either, sir,” said Aaron, “Neither you or your sister.”

That earned a sad look from both siblings.

“Being separated from my little brother was hard,” Morgaine admitted.

“But it was necessary, sister. Our place in the world has only been cemented by lessons we received as children.”

“Why has the Goddess sent you here?” asked Morgaine.

“To seek out her followers here, and receive training in the magic of Avalon. That's what she said.”

“She appeared to you?” Arthur, his knights, and Morgaine were all surprised.

“The silhouette of a ghost, the best way of explaining it. She showed me a vision of something he will do if not stopped—namely, force his way into Avalon in an attempt to tap into its power.”

That received an angry look from Morgaine.

“But surely—“

“My lady, where I come from, Avalon has been closed to us, and has been for a long time. Thing is, it still exists, and somehow, Voldemort—this dark wizard I speak of, will learn of a way to force his way into it.”

“The Goddess would react poorly to such a defilement.”

“She gave me a warning, and I've become her champion. And as her champion, I am asking for your help, and the help of the sisterhood, so we might put an end to this monster, once and for all.”

“Then I can only pledge to help you in receiving such assistance. You should know, it has been a long time since I have set foot in Avalon, in that we have become estranged.”

“You've hidden yourself from Viviane.” At Morgaine's nod, Rasalas continued, “You need to make things right with your aunt, as we'll likely need her help as well.”

It was then brown owl swooped in through the open door leading back to the Sawyers', an envelope secured to its leg. It fluttered down to the table beside Rasalas.

“For me is it?”

The bird seemed to nod in the affirmative.

“Forgive me,” he said to the room, before relieving the bird of its mail. It took off again, back out from whence it came. Rasalas, meanwhile, broke the wax seal on the envelope, opened it, and pulled the parchment from inside.

_Rasalas Black_  
 _27 Bennett Road_  
 _Newcastle, Ontario_

_Mr. Black,_

_We have collected on the debt of the Aitkens family, in relation to the attack on Mr. Gibson on January 1. This was done at dusk yesterday evening. We will require further instruction as to what these individuals should be tasked with doing. We have a few suggestions, but await your input on the matter._

_Find enclosed your monthly statement of accounts, as par your instructions._

_Regards,_  
 _Garokat,_  
 _Senior Account Manager,_  
 _Gringotts, Toronto Branch_

Rasalas gave a nasty smirk, as he passed the letter over to Brady, while keeping the bank statement. “Such wonderful news this early in the day.”

“Yeah, it is,” Brady agreed. “What d'ya think they got in mind?”

“Shovelling dragon shit? Dunno. Really, don't care, long as they're worked 'till they drop.”

“I sense ill-will,” said Lancelot.

“Oh, trust me. The individuals I have ill will toward deserve every bit of the punishment they are about to receive. The goblins can be particularly cruel when it comes to justice. I won't get into the matter that has me arranging such a punishment, but know that someone dear to me was harmed terribly, and no punishment can ever atone for it. I would curse their afterlife if it were possible.”

Morgaine looked shocked. “That would be a terrible thing to do to someone.”

“So's tryin' to cut my cock off,” said Brady, waspishly.

Rasalas, meanwhile, caught Morgaine's shock. “Wait. You mean, it's possible to curse someone's afterlife?”

“Ras... I think that's beyond the dark arts.”

“Blackest of the arts,” said Morgaine, looking horrified, “To maim someone beyond death, it is unspeakable!”

“But possible. Trust me, there are a very select few I could see it being used on.”

“Neither I nor my aunt will ever teach you such magic. And I would warn you to not mention such magic to my aunt, or find yourself denied the lessons you seek,” said Morgaine, gravely, “Such magic... it has no place in the world. Are my words understood?”

“I understand them.”

“Good. Then let us discuss sending a message to my aunt...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Dumbledore receives a bit of bad news; Rasalas and his friends are finally invited to Avalon to meet with the Lady of the Lake; Arthur has a confrontation with his wife; and Brady is forced to reflect on a few matters while tending to his best friend, who is once again inebriated..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: I did warn about dark!harry, right? Becoming the official Black heir, there are some things that are beginning to assert themselves. Tack on the fact that his personality has changed—undergone a bit of a redevelopment since he was attacked in September... there are a number of things he'll never put up with. Poor Malfoy... Poor Belletrix... Poor Dumbledore... Poor Tom..._


	22. Arrival at Avalon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dumbledore receives a bit of bad news; Rasalas and his friends are finally invited to Avalon to meet with the Lady of the Lake; Arthur has a confrontation with his wife; and Brady is forced to reflect on a few matters while tending to his best friend, who is once again inebriated..._

**205\. ARRIVAL AT AVALON  
May 2 – 10, 2006 / 515**

> _“'Avalon will always be there for all men to find if they can seek the way thither, throughout all the ages past the ages. If they cannot find the way to Avalon, it is a sign, perhaps, that they are not ready.' - Kevin”_

― _Marion Zimmer Bradley,_ The Mists of Avalon

_May 2_

Albus Dumbledore returned from lunch in the great hall to a letter waiting for him on his desk. The owl who had delivered it had long left. Turning it over, he didn't recognize the seal, but broke it, and opened it. He frowned, seeing the plain paper, rather than parchment. It was letterhead paper, with the firm of  _Lewis, Wells, Gill & Fletcher_ being stencilled at the top.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_This letter is to inform you that my client, Rasalas Black (nee Harry Potter), has reassigned his Wizengamot proxy vote to Amelia Bones, affective immediately. A similar letter of intent has been dispatched, along with a copy of this letter._

_My client wishes for his sentiments and beliefs to be better-represented within the government body, and feels that leaving the Potter proxy within your purview would be a mistake._

_Sincerely,_

_(a signature was scrawled here)_

_Kate Lewis, Solicitor_

_(another signature was scrawled here)_

_Rasalas A. Black_

_c.c. Dilys Atterworth, clerk of the Wizengamot_

_c.c. Amelia Bones_

Dumbledore removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. Reassigning his proxy vote was a surprise. Who told him about it? More importantly, did he know about the other proxies? No. If he did, he would likely have them reassigned too. Dumbledore could try and block the move, but... no, that wouldn't work either. With Canada recognizing him as an adult, he had full adult rights that carried to England. And really, with Fudge dragging him in front of the full Wizengamot back in August, England had in essence done the same thing! The young wizard had full right to dictate such affairs, without interference.

And even if he were not legally an adult, he was working through a legal representative—a solicitor. If anything, Harry was being very smart, and very careful about matters, making sure such things could not be reversed.

This would play out badly with the Wizengamot as a whole, with Harry pulling his proxy and assigning it to someone else. The Prophet would take the news and run with it—as if things weren't already a fiasco as far as the paper were concerned. Albus' credibility was already taking a beating, and this would only add to it.

He replaced his glasses, and put the parchment back in the envelope. Three quarters of the year, with Harry outside of his sphere of influence. Far worse, he had not only a solicitor whispering advice in his ear, but Sirius Black. The man had effectively taken Albus' place as mentor and parental figure. And worse... instead of the authority-figure-loving Hermione, and the not-so-tactful Ron, he now had a Muggleborn and a pair of Muggles as his closest friends.

He'd been able to do a little digging into the background of Brady Gibson. Famous musician with a large fan base. So making him 'disappear' might cause a lot of problems. Not to mention, if sources were right, Gibson and his family were now all under Sirius' protection. Word was, there had been some kind of incident in January, and the families of those responsible had all been enslaved for it! Five Canadian Muggles had been sentenced to Azkaban back in March—Albus was still trying to confirm it for sure... and if it were true... perhaps there might be the leverage he needed... perhaps a word with them might be in order.

As for Sirius, Albus was already working on something that might have him removed from the picture in a more permanent manner... though that all hinged on what Tom did. Time would only tell.

* * *

_May 5_

The new house was taking shape much more quickly, with the ground floor now being completed, and work progressing with the framing on the second floor. It was mid-morning, with Rasalas watching the construction from his broom—all tutoring sessions had been put on hold, as had his Occlumency and Apparition lessons (the latter only until they figured out what the day was going to look like).

He found it odd that the magical construction team seemed to take so long with the construction—they worked the same as a non-magical contractor. Sure, he'd seen some of the guys using their wands periodically, but for the most part, things were put together without the use of magic. Wasn't that the whole point?

No matter. As long as it was done right. The house would feature a wrap-around porch on all sides except for a break on the south side. The main entrance would face the northeast, the parlour being the bottom part of a large circular turret that would extend two storeys with a high-pitched roof. Even the windows would be curved, with curved glass—something rather unique in present-day construction techniques.

His thoughts were interrupted as he spotted Ryan coming up the dirt path on an ATV. He was beckoning for him to land, so Rasalas flew over and touched down.

“What's going on?”

“Da n-n-needs us in the shop.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Hop on, th-th-there's room.” Ryan shifted forward a bit, so Rasalas could climb on the back.

Rasalas cast a shrinking charm on his broom, stowed it in his pouch, then climbed on. The ATV was more than useful in getting around the property in a hurry, and had come in handy during the Halloween weekend.

Drawing close to the shop, they could see a large rig of some sort only part-way in the second bay. Rasalas remembered seeing it pull in earlier. They parked near the doorway at the east end of the building.

“What is it exactly?”

“It's a mobile drilling platform. For d-d-drilling deep holes, see. Da s-s-says the shaft assembly's fucked up.”

“So it has to be taken apart, in a nutshell,” Rasalas guessed.

* * *

_May 10_

Rasalas and his friends were awake once again before the crack of dawn. A message had arrived back from Viviane the previous day, clearing the way for them to visit, however, with it being late in the day, it was decided they would wait until morning to make the trip.

So now, immediately following breakfast, Arthur and his sister, along with Lancelot and Accolon, joined Rasalas and his friends in the planetarium. Leaving the temporal controls alone, Rasalas manipulated the map, zooming it in as close as he could.

“The map won't let us actually see Avalon, but... there is a place we would go to meet boats, if my information is correct.”

“Which would be about here,” said Lancelot, pointing to a location on the edge of the lake that made a poor excuse for a clearing. It looked like there was a small trail leading to the water's edge, but nothing more.

“That would make for a rough landing,” said Rasalas. His eyes wandered to another location about a hundred feet from the bank. “That looks like a better spot. You keep horses there.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Then that's the destination for our port key.” Rasalas placed a medium-sized stick on the spot, then drew his wand and touched it. “ _ Portus _ .”

This time, the stick quivered and shimmered blue a moment before falling still. So, a normal port key, Rasalas realized.

“We gon' need a way back,” said Brady.

“Already ahead of you. I made one that will drop us back in the courtyard at the castle,” Rasalas answered. He thought for a moment, before explaining, “ So, the rules of travelling by port key. The object will keep your hand tied to it until we approach our destination. As we do, try and keep your feet together, and knees bent. This will give you a better chance of landing on them, rather than your backside.”

“The, uh, sensation's not all that great, but, it gets us to our destination crazy fast, a minute at worst,” said Aaron.

“My aunt is able to vanish from one place, to appear in another,” said Morgaine.

“Apparition, we call it,” said Rasalas, “Sirius is giving me lessons. All right. Everyone gather around, and get a good grip on the stick—keep in mind, that it won't always be a stick. It can be any mundane—non-magical object, but the important thing is getting a good grip on it.”

He waited for everyone to get a hand on it (and for Brady to store his cap in his pouch). They looked rather goofy, until Rasalas spoke, “ _ Activate _ !” They vanished in a blur of limbs.

Those who had up to this point not experienced travel by port key, it was perhaps the most insane experience to date. However, as Aaron had promised, it was mercifully quick, as Rasalas exclaimed, “Feet out in front of you, and let go!”

Of the seven of them, only Ryan and Aaron did not land well. Arthur nearly fell over, but quickly regained his balance, and quickly steadied his first knight. Morgaine and Accolon had landed almost perfectly.

“I am held speechless, Rasalas,” said Morgaine, looking around.

Indeed, they had landed in the small clearing where horses were often kept. There was a tethering post, as well as a fire pit with the remains of many fires. Brady immediately retrieved his cap from his pouch, and put it back on.

“Your head dress is unusual,” Accolon commented, “I believe you look better without.”

Brady rolled his eyes. “Feel naked without it.”

Rasalas smirked. “At least he doesn't sleep in it.”

That earned a rude gesture, and chuckles from Arthur and his knights.

“Come this way,” said Morgaine, already making a track down the narrow path to the water.

It was a very short walk to the water's edge, where, just as they'd seen on the map, there were a set of steps that led right into the water. There, they found four boats waiting for them. Rasalas was immediately puzzled as to how they knew how many visitors they were transporting. Magic, perhaps. Each boat carried a pair of oarsmen.

They quickly organized with two in a boat. Rasalas and Brady took to the first, Morgaine and Arthur to the second, Lancelot and Accolon to the third, with Ryan and Aaron taking the last. They then pushed off, and set out across the still water.

Ryan dipped his hand in the water, and visually shivered. “Goddess, that's c-c-cold.”

Aaron also dipped his hand in the water. “No, man. On a scorching hot day, this would be beautiful.”

Ryan smirked, before dipping his hand in the water and flinging it at Aaron.

“Mental,” Rasalas muttered, as it degenerated into a water fight.

“They don' have trouble findin' messes,” Brady agreed.

“Uh, guys. Probably won't make that great an impression looking like drowned rats,” said Rasalas.

“S-s-sorry, got carried away,” Ryan apologized, producing his wand. It took him several tries, but he finally got himself and his boyfriend dry.

“Your difficulty speaking is a hindrance to you practising magic, young wizard,” said Accolon.

“C-c-can't help it,” said Ryan, with a shrug.

“Once he learns how to cast silently, it'll get much easier,” said Rasalas, “N.E.W.T. level courses require silent casting.”

“What's a newt?” asked Lancelot.

“An acronym—Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. Witches and wizards have them in the last year of their schooling.”

What seemed like only a few minutes later, they'd left the shore far behind them, and now, a mist was surrounding the four boats. Rasalas could almost taste the ambient magic swirling around them, powerful wards, if he was reading it correctly. They were on the border of Avalon itself. A bell could be heard tolling in the distance—Glastonbury.

Morgaine had stood up in the lead boat, and now raised her hands above her head, concentrating a moment. She then brought them down in a gentle sweeping motion—the ritual to part the mists, Rasalas realized. Unfortunately, nothing happened.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, sadly, “I cannot part the mists.”

Rasalas stood up in his boat, with Brady keeping him steady.

“Mother Goddess... your grace, here I am, at your doorstep, but if you don't let us in, then I cannot hope to receive lessons from your followers.”

Morgaine tried the ritual again, and this time was successful, as the mists parted, revealing the magical isle. Rasalas this time felt a surge of magic around them as this happened—the wards had let them pass.

Brady, too, felt the immense surge of magical energy swirl around them. What exactly was he doing here anyway? This... all of this... it went against everything he had been taught as a boy. The bible was law. There was only one God. It was taken as absolute fact.

Yet here again, he could feel the immense power swirling around them as they passed from the realm of the real world, into the mystical isle of Avalon. Was he ready for irrefutable proof? That the Goddess truly existed? A voice inside of his head was practically screaming for him to jump into the icy water and beat a path back to shore... back to the safety of his beliefs—rather than have everything he believed in fractured beyond repair.

No. It was too late for that. The boats were already headed toward the shore of Avalon, a lush, green lawn with a small beach. There was a path leading up from it, to an ancient structure carved into the rock itself, with many columns. It was truly beautiful.

“Ma would l-love to see this,” said Ryan.

“There are many who would give all to set foot here, but not all are worthy. This place is sacred,” said Morgaine.

“We might be able to convince my mother to make exception,” said Lancelot, “If what young Ryan says is true, there are few followers of the old ways in their world.”

Morgaine let out a sigh.

“Yet you know the temperament of your mother, Lancelot. We would have better success at moving mountains, than changing her mind on matters.”

Lancelot gave a pained look, knowing his cousin was right.

The boats at last beached on the shore of the island, and the oarsmen held the boats steady so their passengers could disembark. Ryan looked almost aglow, as he stepped onto the sacred shore. Accolon, too, seemed to be starstruck at the idea, as he fulfilled one of his deepest desires.

“Come. I will lead you to Viviane,” said Morgaine.

The living quarters built into the rock face was rather simple, but it had been nicely decorated, somewhat as expected of such a sacred place. They found Viviane in what was clearly the kitchen area. She was a tall witch with long dark hair that flowed in ringlets, and wore a light blue robe, and exactly as Morgaine, she had a crescent-shaped marking on her forehead.

“Aunt Viviane. I present Rasalas Black, Brady Gibson, Ryan Sawyer, and Aaron Watson.”

At introduction, Brady quickly removed his cap. Rasalas and his friends then momentarily bowed their heads out of respect.

Viviane frowned.

“You said nothing about bringing others.”

“Mother, it is not up to you who is permitted to set foot on the magical isle. It is for the Goddess to decide,” said Lancelot, frostily.

Viviane gave her son a most frigid stare.

“That may be, but to travel so far from Camelot, the Saxons could have taken you without warning! Such foolish choices!”

“Your grace. We travelled by magical means. We left Camelot maybe a half-hour ago. The longest part of the journey was by boat,” said Rasalas.

“I see.”

Viviane softened a little.

“Morgaine did tell me you have magical ability. What do you believe you will find here?”

“Lessons in the arts. Lessons in magic that my world has long forgotten. And before you turn me down, you need to know that it is the Goddess who has sent me here,” said Rasalas. “If you don't believe me, I can show you a memory of my conversation with her shade—or at least part of it. Some things remain private.”

“You have a way of allowing someone else to see a personal memory?” Viviane looked intrigued.

“It's what's called a pensieve,” said Rasalas, as he reached into his pouch, and drew out a covered bowl.

He set it on the table, then removed the cover, revealing a shimmering liquid within it. He then drew his stronger wand, and touched it to his right temple, and pulled what looked like a strand of hair away from it. He let it fall into the bowl, and it swirled around a moment, making the water look somewhat oily.

“Just touch the bowl with a finger—some people actually stick their face into it, but that's unnecessary.”

Viviane touched the liquid with a finger, and immediately froze in place.

“Perfectly normal.”

Rasalas looked around, and noticed a few priestesses and servants had come into the room, curious of the strange voices. It would be some of those very people who would likely be teaching him, he realized.

“W-w-what if she says no?” Ryan asked.

“Then I will have to teach you, though my knowledge is somewhat less than my aunt's. Though we will still study here. Tell me, Rasalas, are you able to create a port key that will bring us directly here?”

“I'm still learning how to make port keys, just like I'm learning how to Apparate. Sirius says they work hand in hand. But right now... no I can't make one on my own. But Fawkes, meanwhile... he'll give us a ride back to the castle.”

“W-w-what about adding a door to the sanctuary?”

“No. Absolutely not,” said Rasalas, firmly, “Even travelling here by port key is something I'm actually not comfortable with. We all agree that this place is sacred.”

“You again prove wisdom beyond years,” said Morgaine.

“Encounters with Voldemort, and other nasty encounters at Hogwarts have all but ensured I've had a cursed childhood,” said Rasalas, sadly, “I've had no chance to be a child. And most of that, I've only seen third-hand... given my accident back in August.”

“Nor have I,” said Arthur, “Though I know not exactly what your life has been, my childhood was not necessarily a joyous one either.”

“Right. Taken by Merlin for fostering when you were barely out of your nappies,” Rasalas remembered.

“How is it you—“ Arthur realized it was likely they'd done their research into his life, and likely the lives of many others.

“Extensive research,” said Rasalas, easily guessing Arthur's thoughts. “Our reason for arriving when we did—we knew Morgaine would be at Camelot. Since we were unsure of whether or not we'd be allowed to actually create the port key directly here, we decided to instead go where we knew we would meet someone who could get us here. Does that make sense?”

“Perfectly.”

“Though I think the Goddess does guide my hand a little. The first time I've put any stock in a deity, really.”

“Trusting in her hands, it is a sound choice,” said Morgaine. “I have made a number of errors in judgement in my past. Renouncing the Goddess is one of my worst.”

“But you can make it right again. You're here, now. It's a start,” said Rasalas. “I think there is such a thing as a second chance. Perhaps, the Goddess has given you yours.”

Viviane at last became unfrozen.

“My word, child. You have indeed been touched by the great mother. You have my apologies for being cold to you.”

“Will you help us?”

“I would violate the very vows and oaths I have taken, if I did not.”

“I have a further request, that my friends here join me.”

“The Goddess vested me with the great sword at my hip, that I might protect the people of Britain from savagery. I would go one step further, and learn the arts,” Arthur declared.

“And I, likewise,” said Lancelot. “Turning my back on Avalon was a mistake. I would see it corrected.”

“And I, to stand here in the magical isle, one of my greatest desires is fulfilled. I would see it furthered, to also learn the art,” said Accolon.

“I will help with the lessons,” Morgaine offered, “Part of my penance for also turning my back on Avalon.”

Viviane could only smile. This traveller from the future... a servant of the Goddess... in one fell swoop, set all her plans back on the rails. Arthur would be schooled in the art, and be swayed back toward the centre, offsetting the pressure he was receiving from the bishop and his wife to renounce the old ways. Her protege, up to recently, hidden from view, now comes back to the fold. And even her own son, wished to take up the art, and become a warrior of a different sort. She could most definitely work with this new order.

“I will need to contemplate matters. Tomorrow, we will begin. For now—”

“Viviane, we will not need to remain here,” said Rasalas, “If it is all right, we will simply use a port key to get between here and Camelot. This way, Arthur may keep up on affairs, and not be missing for days at a time. Though, we would arrive and depart down on the lawn, rather in here, since that would be just as bad as barging into someone's home.”

“Though the concept of a port key is lost on me...”

“It's an enchanted object that lets you travel from one place to another very quickly. It's something I will show you sometime in the future,” Rasalas promised.

“If the Goddess has let you into the magical isle, then you should have no trouble using a 'port key'. I do agree with your logic in that Arthur and his knights are not away from Camelot for too long. You are aware of the Saxon threat.”

“Very much so,” Rasalas answered. “As much as we would like to, we can't interfere with what will come. Changing too many things would be a disaster... and quite honestly, there are things that I don't think we could change, even if we wanted to.”

“But small things, we definitely can,” said Aaron.

“And very few people can know we're from the future,” said Rasalas, “It could put us all in awkward situations.”

Shortly after, Rasalas and his group, except for Morgaine, returned to the landing where the boats waited—Viviane did want to speak with her protege, and had made it clear they were to return the following morning—early if possible.

* * *

Most of the castle inhabitants in the courtyard were rather surprised as a blur of bodies suddenly appeared out of thin air, but thought little else when they noticed who it was. After all, word had travelled rather quickly that the King would be away from the castle for an indeterminate amount of time, and it involved their visitors.

Once everyone had straightened themselves out after the second port key trip of the day, they headed up to the royal chamber, so Arthur could check in with his wife. Unfortunately, Gwenhwyfar had other ideas, and laid into him the second the group walked into the room.

“So much for the love of your _friend_. So much for your dear sister's _potions_. So much for condemning me to everlasting damnation by that _beastliness_ in our _marriage bed_.”

“Gwen, calm yourself, what is it that brings you—“

“My _courses_ have come on me. I bear you no _child_ , Arthur!”

“Come, guys,” said Rasalas, leading the others away, while Arthur tried to console his distraught wife. They stepped into the sanctuary, and Rasalas shut the door—not that it really helped. God, Gwenhwyfar could really yell. It was likely the entire castle heard every word.

“God, she reminds me of a great aunt that's no longer with us,” Aaron muttered, “She could give a train horn a run for its money.”

It seemed only a few seconds later, when the door flew open, and Arthur stormed in, slamming the door after—only for something to slam into it from the other side with a crash.

“Beware of a woman on her period,” Aaron sniggered.

“Th-th-that's not very nice,” Ryan admonished.

That only got a confused look from Arthur, though Ryan could see he was still most certainly stirred up from the argument he'd just had with his wife. Rasalas, too could quite easily read the man; he was very stressed by what had just happened. He glanced up at the clock over the doorway leading back into Ryan's room. A quarter to six.

“Right. New plan. Let's go flying.”

“Ras...”

“We have four brooms right? Brady, you mind taking a passenger?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“We'll need disillusionment charms so non-magical people don't see us—”

“Unless we go in my... uh... place, uh...”

“Brady's still not sure what to call it,” Rasalas smirked, “But wicked idea. It'll also give you lot an idea what this chamber is capable of.”

“A broom?” Accolon looked confused, until Rasalas reached into his pouch, and pulled his out. He produced his wand, and re-enlarged it. “I would hex the first person who dared use this for sweeping.”

After Ryan, Aaron, and Brady had retrieved their brooms, Brady led them into his created space.

“My word...” said Accolon, taking in the world he now found himself in. “This is inside of your... chamber?”

“Though Brady here created this space, yeah, it is. We still haven't determined if the place actually has limits. Now... err... pick a partner.”

Accolon quickly paired with Rasalas, while Arthur paired with Brady, leaving Lancelot with a choice between Aaron and Ryan. He chose Aaron, leaving Ryan being the only lone rider.

“So first off... Ryan, we're not messing about in the air. So no spells or the like.”

“You have fought from the air,” said Arthur. It was not a question.

“We've practised fighting from our brooms, yeah,” Rasalas answered, “But at the time, we were over the water for the most part, and weren't carrying historically important people. Seriously, Ryan. No goofing around.”

“I know. M-m-maybe once they get used to it though,” he smirked.

“Not today.”

“Could show 'em, though,” Brady suggested.

“We'll see. How deep is the lake?”

“Deep enough. It's got a quick drop-off, if that's what you're meanin'.”

“All right. So maybe later. For now, let's get in the air.” Rasalas mounted his broom, then shifted forward, making room for Accolon. He climbed on the back.

“And how am I to hold on?”

“Wrap your arms around my waist.”

Within minutes, the four brooms were in the air. Rasalas looked over, and could see Arthur looked astounded.

“My word...”

“First time seeing the world from the air, sir?” asked Ryan.

“It is.”

“We'll have to do this back at Camelot,” said Aaron, as they started making a track toward the lake.

“B-b-bishop Patricius would likely have a c-c-c-coronary seeing Arthur doing this,” said Ryan, smirking.

“Coronary? What might that be?” questioned Lancelot.

“A heart attack. Serious medical emergency,” Aaron explained, “A lot of people die from them. The heart stops working properly, in... uh... well, put simply.”

“That does not sound like something to be made light of,” said Arthur, frowning. “I would not wish ill of the bishop. He is a welcome voice at my round table, as much as my sister and the great Merlin.”

“Do you see Merlin often?” questioned Ryan.

“Sometimes. He does grace my court with his presence.”

“It would be awesome if w-w-w-we could actually m-meet him,” said Ryan.

“Being one of the greatest wizards who ever lived, yeah,” Rasalas agreed, “I mean, the wizarding world does have an award named after him.”

Arthur chuckled. “Is that so? I believe he would be amused to learn of such an honour.”

Rasalas smirked. “What I wouldn't give to see him go toe to toe with Dumbledore, teach the bumbling old fool a thing or two.”

“And who might this 'Dumbledore' be?” questioned Accolon. They had reached the lake, but kept going, headed for the opposite side.

“Someone who used to be a friend and a mentor, at least according to some other friends of mine who are still attending school,” Rasalas answered, “At this point, he's just this side of becoming an enemy. He keeps up with his plots and schemes, and he will be.”

“Bank right a bit,” said Brady. They all followed suit, heading south, if the sun was any indication.

“And this is one of the reasons you now seek the help of my sister,” Arthur guessed.

“A very small part. No, the Goddess contacted me directly in a dream. But I welcome the lessons and training. Dumbledore has most certainly failed me in that category. Britain's magical community has failed me as a whole in a number of places. According to my solicitor—”

“A solicitor?” questioned Lancelot.

“Someone who represents me in legal matters. You'll remember the letter I received a few days ago when we first met? That was the work of my solicitor. She'll continue to look after my personal agenda while I'm receiving lessons in Avalon—much as Arthur will delegate authority while he's with us.”

“That would make sense, yes.”

They spent the remainder of the morning in the air, with Brady taking the lead. Since it was his creation, he knew his way around far better than anyone. And really, it was truly astounding, just how big it was. To fly for the entire morning and pass over the same area only a couple of times...

They finally touched down in front of the 'house', and stepped back inside, and through the door leading back into the sanctuary's parlour. It was time for lunch, though it would actually be dinner in the castle. Rasalas had to shake his head. God, that was confusing—and just... astounding, that they could step through a door, and end up in a place that was five hours ahead of the room from which they'd just left. He smirked to himself, as they took seats at the round table.

Brady caught his smirk. “What?”

“Magic is truly awesome sometimes,” Rasalas answered, as he began to put items on his plate. “Think of it. We stepped through a door from my place into the castle, and instantly, we're five hours ahead.”

“Would've been easier to set it so the time matched here,” said Aaron, “Why didn't we anyway?”

“I'd debated about doing it, but then the map would have been weird too. And if we ever connect with Hogwarts—not that I ever plan to—they'll be five hours ahead as well.”

“And where is this 'Hogwarts'?” Questioned one of the knights a few places from him.

“A castle in northern Scotland,” answered Rasalas, “It doesn't exist here yet, and won't for another four hundred and fifty years or so.”

He glanced across the table, to see Gwenhwyfar looking back at him, with icy hatred. The woman had a lot of anger toward him—and it was obvious it extended to her husband at this point. That was going to be a problem, Rasalas was certain of it.

“Are we to assume the day went well, sire?” questioned another one of the knights.

“It was enlightening, yes,” Arthur answered, “As such, be it known I will be preoccupied during the day over the coming weeks. I will assign authority during my absence, but plan to be present for supper when possible.”

“We'll also leave a way for a message to reach us if something needs immediate attention,” said Rasalas, “We know of the importance of his majesty.”

The evening passed in a blur of food, drink, and song. Given the time period, the music was far different than what Rasalas and his friends might be used to, but nonetheless enthralling. As they found out, Morgaine's voice was enchanting, and Rasalas was silently plotting to have her visit the Sawyers one night during one of their fires. Perhaps she could join them at Samhain.

“C'mon, Ras... gotta get some sleep,” he heard someone whisper, sometime later. Dazed, he found himself being pulled to his feet, being supported between two others.

“Wha? Bed?” The world was spinning madly, and he realized there was no way in hell he'd ever make it anywhere on foot in his present condition.

“No bed... more drink,” he muttered.

“You're drunk, Ras. C'mon... gon' be real fun in the mornin'.”

“But... more—”

“Young wizard, you must rest, that's a king's order.”

Rasalas could only grin in his state of inebriation, and yes, Brady had phrased it quite right. It would be a very uncomfortable morning. He allowed himself to be half-carried back to his shared bedroom, where Brady helped him lie down.

“I got it from here,” he heard Brady say.

“And you are to get some rest as well,” he heard Arthur say, “The Lady of the Lake awaits.”

“I'll get 'im up.”

“I will then see you at breakfast.”

“'night, sir.”

Now, he felt his boots being pulled off.

“No boots...”

Brady couldn't help but roll his eyes at the scolding, and the irony. Here it was he, removing the young wizard's boots. Undressing him, quite literally. At what point did that happen, anyway? They were acting like an old married couple, for Christ's sake! Then again, it could be worse. The young wizard could be trying to get into his pants. No way in  _hell_ that was ever going to happen. The day he did that sort of thing with another dude... would be the day hell froze over. Period.

He let out a sigh, as he began to undress himself. No, that wasn't what Rasalas wanted. It was quite possibly the young wizard loved him to death, but... not in that way. He'd likely find that certain someone, but it wasn't Brady. He had to chuckle to himself, imagining them both years down the road, with significant others at their sides, but still being joined at the hip. Yeah, that was a more likely picture.

Stripped down to his underwear, he then set the alarm for 3:30, and climbed into bed on his side. The clock said 8:13 pm. Bizarre, but necessary. Fucking time difference and all that. Maybe they should change the clock so it matched the time in Avalon...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: We get a picture of what kind of training Harry and his friends are receiving; Occlumency morphs into Legilimency training; we get a look at Harry's new house, during which Harry has a goofy moment when trying to move the control sphere into it; Harry connects with another old friend; and two feasts held at Camelot both have distressing consequences, one being devastating..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Poor Dumbledore. Having another one of many pillars of control being stripped away from him. Though... he seems to have something cooking with regard to Sirius. There was a good reason Fawkes deserted the headmaster, right?_
> 
> _And poor Brady... having his religious beliefs compromised, for lack of a better phrase. This will most certainly be an ongoing issue for him, but how do you ignore blatant evidence counter to what you're taught?_
> 
> _I also took the opportunity to frame Rasalas and Brady's relationship as it currently stands. They do sometimes act like an 'old married couple', but by no means is it either sexual or romantic. They find safety and comfort around each other._
> 
> _Harry/Rasalas, meanwhile, really needs to take it easy on the alcohol. Though it does provide for some rather interesting comedy, no? Watch out. This will have serious consequences in the fall._


	23. Training Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We get a picture of what kind of training Harry and his friends are receiving; Occlumency morphs into Legilimency training; we get a look at Harry's new house, during which Harry has a goofy moment when trying to move the control sphere into it; Harry connects with another old friend; and two feasts held at Camelot both have distressing consequences, one being devastating..._

**206\. TRAINING BEGINS  
May 10 – June 23**

> _“It's all to do with the training: you can do a lot if you're properly trained.”_

_\- Queen Elizabeth II_

Within a few days, things had fallen into a regular routine. Given the time difference, Rasalas decided they would work off of U.K. time, rather than local, since most of the day would be spent in Avalon. This also meant that most of the time, meals were taken at either Camelot, or at the sisterhood's quarters at Avalon. Occasionally, they would take a port key back to the sanctuary and have lunch there, but for the most part it was just easier to remain at Avalon for lunch.

Twice during the week, both Rasalas and Brady had a session with Theresa: at first, together, as she continued to lead them through mind-calming exercises. Then, with Rasalas alone, as he worked on his Occlumency.

Most weekday evenings, after dinner, Rasalas then worked with Sirius learning about Apparition and the creation of port keys. Sirius figured that quite likely, by the end of the month, Rasalas would be taking his Apparition test at the ministry. Being able to make port keys on his own would make travel between Camelot and Avalon much simpler, and it would mean less preparation in the mornings.

* * *

_May 19_

After over a month and a half of construction, Rasalas' new home was completed. Though there were still a few finishing touches to be completed outside, all work was completed on the interior, making it possible for Rasalas to take ownership and move in.

Therefore, it was a day away from training, as Rasalas officially took possession. Sirius also helped out, instructing Kreacher to bring a number of furniture pieces that had been at the manor, but were then stored at the townhouse in London following the earthquake. That meant that rooms such as the dining room and the sitting room could be completely furnished, as well as some of the bedrooms. Much of the furniture from the manor had been salvageable, nothing that a few repair charms wouldn't fix. Some of it, meanwhile, was beyond repair, and ended up being discarded with the rest of the debris.

At this point, Sirius was still tyring to decide what he wanted to do with the island—after all, the wards most certainly still worked. But as it stood, there was no real hurry to rebuild. That would take time and resources, and as it was, he was tied up conducting more research into the estate. Rasalas wanted to know in depth what sort of family laws were still enforceable.

Getting off track here... the house, was truly a work of art. If one unfamiliar with the area were to view it and compare it with the neighbouring house across the road, it could easily be believed that they had been built around the same time. The house was three storeys high, not including the roof, with a wrap-around porch that only broke on the south side to account for a protrusion of the building. There were plenty of windows, and while the clapboard siding had been painted an off-white shade, the roof itself was a crimson colour that would identically match the colour of Fawkes' brilliant plumage. Instead of going with shingles of any sort, on the suggestion of Phil, Rasalas had went with a metal covering, something that would last longer.

Inside, the floors were finished in oak hardwood, while the walls were also painted white—though Rasalas would more than likely change some of the rooms in the future—it was just the default application, for completion's sake. Most rooms received fancy baseboards and crown mouldings, features that were quite common when the Queen Anne design was in style.

A deviation from the design, however, came from the way in which the house would be heated and cooled. Though it could easily be done with magic, even the magical contractors advised him to install a heating and cooling plant. Unlike the Sawyers' house, Rasalas went with a forced-air system, so the house could have both heating and air conditioning.

Of course, there were other deviations, mainly in the size of the rooms. One thing Rasalas found a little uncomfortable about the Sawyers, was the size of the bedrooms. The designs back at the turn of the century left very little room for more than a bed and a chest of drawers at most. So in the design of his new home, Rasalas made sure the bedrooms were all made with ample room, for more than just a bed and a chest of drawers. He'd really liked the layout of things at the manor. Things were spread out to be comfortable, and that design had most certainly influenced the interior design of his new place.

For the first time since the earthquake, Rasalas slept outside of the sanctuary. As he expected, Brady joined him, not wanting to be left behind.

“So we stayin' here from now on?” he asked, as they settled down.

“Sometimes. I felt it was only right that we at least spend the first night here. After all, I did spend a lot of money to build it. I mean, Sirius already picked out his own room, so the house won't sit empty and all. Still, I do want to enjoy it now and then.”

“Yeah, I can get that,” Brady agreed. “Say, something I'm meanin' to ask. You try your computer in the sanctuary yet?”

“No. But I think Ryan has. Far as I know, it works fine. A bit weird, considering the place is a completely magical construct. Why?”

“There's stuff I'm wantin' from home.”

“Ah. I see. Auror Jackson can probably arrange for you to collect some things. But they will likely need to coordinate with the American Department of Magic first.”

“Yeah, figured that much. More bullshit.”

“Better than you being tortured and killed. Brady, seriously, that's exactly what they'll do to you if they manage to capture you. Voldemort knows about you, I'm certain of it.”

* * *

The weekend proved to be just as busy as the weekdays were as of late, as it was the first long weekend of the year for Canadians, and that meant the steam club ran all three days. Though it was a smaller event than the one they held over the Labour Day weekend, it was still fairly busy. Phil did put his steam tractor in steam, and members of the steam club then looked after it for each of the three days, hitching a trailer up to it which carried people around the property.

As had become almost an expectation, Brady took charge of the Y-6-b at one point during each of the days they ran. At one point on Sunday, the Auror detail had to step in as some people became unruly. Phil was quick to show those few people the gate, and told them not to come back. With that, it became evident some sort of security was then necessary, just in case.

* * *

Late Monday evening, Rasalas pointed his wand at the door leading into Arthur's bedchamber. “ _Geminio_ .” He then collected the two orbs that had been produced, then set the red orb on the floor on the opposite side of the door leading to the Sawyers'.

With that done, he then stepped through the door into Arthur's chamber, and recollected the control orb. He made sure to be quiet, since Arthur was sound asleep in the bedchamber—he scowled, knowing Gwenhwyfar still slept in her own private chamber, away from her husband.

For now, that was neither here nor there. He placed the black-coloured orb on the floor in place of the larger obsidian-coloured orb, and watched it form into a door. 'Great. Back to the Sawyers' then.' The door easily opened, but when he tried to step through the opening, but found something barring his way. Oh God... he tried again. “No. What... what have I done?”

“Rasalas?” came Arthur's sleepy voice.

“I... I'm... I've got a problem,” Rasalas muttered, as he again tried to cross the threshold back into the chamber.

Arthur rose, threw on a tunic, and stepped into the larger chamber.

“Can... can you do me a favour, and step into the sanctuary a moment? Just step through and back.”

“Of course.”

Arthur stepped through the door without a problem.

“This is most peculiar. Why aren't I able to pass through?”

Arthur looked at Rasalas a moment, then noting the obsidian-coloured orb held in his hands. “The sphere in your hands represents the chamber, does it not?”

Now, Rasalas immediately understood the problem, and felt like banging his head against the wall. “Bloody hell I can be thick at times! Thank you, sir.”

“May I ask why you are removing it?”

“I'm moving it back to my new house. When it's in place... I mean, maybe later today, I'll have you and the others through for a tour. It's really quite nice.”

Rasalas thought for a moment.

“Though I'm still... ah. I got it. Kreacher?”

_Pop_ . “Young master call for Kreacher?” the elf croaked out, giving a low bow.

“I did. Could you take this and place it in my room at the new house?”

“At once.” Rasalas handed Kreacher the orb, and he popped away with it.

“Thank you for the help, Arthur.”

“And we will see you day after tomorrow then.”

“Yeah. Brady has some personal business he needs to take care of at his place, so it'll likely be most of the day. But we'll see.”

“Until day after tomorrow then.”

“Good night, sir.”

Rasalas then passed through the door into the sanctuary, without trouble. God, that had been a little scary. No matter... he passed through the door back into the Sawyers. Perhaps he should have—no, he'd still have the same issue. The whole point of the past ten minutes, was moving the control orb to HIS house. And he really did want to get to bed. Sirius would probably yell at him but... 'Three D's... this is easy...' He twisted on the spot, and vanished with a noisy  _crack_ .

He appeared in his room with an equally noisy  _crack_ —the noise was something he was still working on. Nonetheless, he arrived in one piece... splinching was now a rare incidence; Occlumency really helped with Apparating safely. He collected the orb off the dresser, then stepped out of the room, only to run into Sirius coming up the stairs.

“Rasalas. You Apparated again without supervision. Why?”

“It's faster. Padfoot, I know what I'm doing.”

“With Aurors watching the property. One of these days, they won't look the other way. You'll end up with a hefty fine.”

Rasalas let out a huff. “Just wanna get this done and get some sleep.”

“What is it you're doing exactly?”

“Moving the orb from Arthur's chamber to the house here. I'm thinking against the wall that separates the stairs from the parlour. I'll have to move the small sofa, but... I'd like this to be in the parlour.”

“That makes sense. But back to my point. Do not Apparate without supervision. You know what could happen if you splinch yourself badly.”

“I know. I just... I got this. I have to, Sirius.”

Sirius let it drop, but still followed Rasalas back down to the main floor, where he replaced the sanctuary's control orb against the wall, and waited for the door to reform.

“Still find that amazing,” Rasalas grinned, as he opened the door, and stepped through. He then stepped back into Arthur's chamber, just to be sure everything was still connected properly—which it was.

“God, that was a pain in the ass.”

“What happened?” questioned Ryan. As was another common occurrence, people tended to gather in the sanctuary's common room.

“I did something goofy trying to collect the control orb.”

“Apparate without a license, yeah,” said Sirius, scowling.

“No. I collected the orb all right... made a new door to leave at Camelot... and that all worked right. 'course, then I tried to come back into the sanctuary—”

“Still holdin' the... the orb or whatever it is,” Brady guessed, to which Rasalas nodded.

“Uh... somehow I don't think the universe would ever allow that,” said Aaron, smirking.

“Yeah, what I'm thinkin',” Brady agreed.

“A temporal circular reference,” said Sirius, “It's a fixed rule when dealing with wizard space, Rasalas. Think of having a trunk that has a room inside of it. You put the trunk in your pouch, then try to Apparate into the room inside of the trunk.”

“Sounds like a chicken an' egg problem,” Brady guessed.

“That's exactly it, Mr. Gibson. A circular reference cannot be created by any thing for any reason. Given this space follows those rules, one can't Apparate into it or step through a door into it, while having the control orb on their person. For future reference.”

“Uh... thanks for clearing that up, Padfoot.” Rasalas could feel a headache coming on.

* * *

The following day, Rasalas travelled with Brady back to his house by port key, to collect a number of items. Guessing that some of the items might be sensitive, Rasalas had created another door set, to be used temporarily. The connection was placed in their shared room for now.

The morning and a good part of the afternoon was spent moving things through the door and into the sanctuary. Rasalas realized that a lot of it was so he felt more at home in the sanctuary, and that was more than acceptable. If anything, it spoke about his friend's state of mind. He was settling for the long term. Perhaps Brady's mother might like it if they did something similar with her place.

The last items to be moved into the sanctuary were a pair of large safes. Both were very heavy, and needed to be moved with a featherweight charm. Rasalas at first figured they were filled with valuables and money.

“Guns,” Brady answered, simply, “Gon' teach 'ya how to shoot.”

“Oh. Right. Forgot about that,” Rasalas grinned, as the heavy items were moved into a corner. “Is this it?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Then let's tell the Aurors and remove the door.”

* * *

With Brady wanting to teach him how to use firearms, and Arthur wanting him to learn swordsmanship, Rasalas found his training expanded further. Such lessons did not take place every day, but it most definitely made for full days across the board, considering he was still taking Occlumency lessons from Theresa, and Apparition lessons from Sirius.

June 1, however, saw an end to the Apparition lessons, as Rasalas finally took his exam at the ministry in Toronto. It lasted less than a half-hour, with the ministry instructor putting him through a series of tests, to make sure he was competent and able to Apparate consistently. Most importantly, the instructor wanted to be sure Rasalas could Apparate without  _splinching_ himself. It was the critical part of the test—the leaving behind of any part of the body, be it as little as a strand of  _hair_ —the applicant failed. It was that simple.

Rasalas passed with little effort. Sirius had been a brilliant teacher, and with Rasalas' stronger grasp on his emotions and mind as a whole, willing himself from one place to another came to him naturally.

Come to think of it, many of his mental lessons were progressing much faster of late. It had taken some time for him to finally grasp the basic concepts Theresa was teaching, but once he got past it, he had moved on to developing defences designed at protecting his thoughts, and more importantly, driving intruders out.

At this point, his defences were more than capable of pushing Theresa out, as a result of some rather clever traps he'd developed. 'You rule your own head' was one of Theresa's simplest, yet most important lessons, and Rasalas had taken that to heart.

The memories were only jumbles and disjointed fragments to him consciously, but Theresa had experienced the full brunt of them, in all their horrifying glory, having experienced in one of them, the full blast of the  _Cruciatus_ curse. She had required several calming draughts and a twenty-minute break, before they were able to continue the lesson. Rasalas had apologized profusely, but Theresa only waved it off, clearly impressed by such defences... even if they did unnerve her. Where on earth had this boy been exposed to the torture curse in the first place?!

Occlumency also had another positive effect, in that he seemed to retain information more quickly and more easily. However, having four years of magical schooling, it meant that many things also had to be un-learned, and so he worked with the others.

Rasalas was more than happy to learn his non-magical friends would also be learning.

“All have potential to learn the art,” Viviane had explained, during their first full day of training. Both Brady and Aaron had been confused about being invited to join the rest, but that single statement put the confusion aside. Brady, of course, was once again torn, now being invited to participate in something that some part of him still considered unnatural.

Rasalas, of course, could easily read him, and had pointed out, “You need to be able to protect yourself against magical enemies. No matter how you might still think of magic, you do have some sense of self preservation, do you not?”

Brady could not come up with a suitable counter-argument, and so had joined them.

Now, as they moved into the month of June, they were still working on developing magical awareness. It was one of the most critical steps in learning how to wield the earth's natural energy. Being aware of it then led to being able to call it forward. So, lots of mind exercises were needed—something that both Rasalas and Brady already excelled in, considering they already covered that sort of thing with Theresa.

Since that sort of lesson was then being covered by Viviane and Morgaine, the lesson with Theresa became redundant, and so Theresa discontinued them. However, Rasalas' Occlumency lessons continued, and given he was becoming more than adept at it, the mind-healer began teaching him the reciprocal: Legilimency. No doubt, the group as a whole were  _very_ busy.

With the weekdays being as busy as they were, with many of them being eighteen or sometimes twenty-hour-days, the weekends were absolutely meant to rest and unwind. The group separated for most of the day on Saturdays and Sundays.

Ryan and Aaron commonly spent at least one day helping Ryan's father in the shop. Sometimes it was business-related, while other times, it was on more personal projects.

Brady, meanwhile, spent time with his mother and his brother, given there was less and less time for that during the week. With their sleeping patterns aligned on London time, five hours ahead, it meant being up at 4 am, or more often, 3:30, to give themselves time to eat before taking the port key to Avalon. Then, by the time they returned in the afternoon, it was commonly after dark back at Camelot. So it was something Brady insisted on, to spend time with his family during the weekend.

Rasalas, typically, spent afternoons both days back at Camelot, or in the area surrounding the castle. It was truly a beautiful location, with a burgeoning town that had sprung up in the castle's shadow. Rasalas tended not to interact very often with its residents, wanting to restrict the amount of contact he had with them.

* * *

_June 17, 2006_

On weekends, Rasalas and his close friends tended not to eat at the castle. However, this was an exception, as Arthur had all but insisted they join him. Rasalas quickly understood why, as it looked like another feast had been put out. How could they say no? They could stay for a couple of hours, then... but Rasalas had been looking forward to another gathering at the Sawyers'.

The warmer weather meant more bonfires, and the pool... and the weekends also meant meals at which Rasalas didn't have to bear the brunt of Gwenhwyfar's glares. He knew the woman hated his guts, and would likely curse the ground he walked on, if she were able.

As it stood, Rasalas was almost tempted to take meals in the sanctuary, just to avoid the friction their presence was created. However, it was likely that Arthur would then follow, along with his first knight, and Accolon, and quite honestly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to set that sort of precedent. Just his presence alone was already causing upheaval. Having the king and his first knight being absent from meals on top of the daily absences due to training... no, not a good thing.

Back to the point of the story, Rasalas and his friends accepted Arthur's invitation to join in the feasting, and in retrospect, Rasalas regretted it. They stayed longer than planned, with plenty of ale, food, and music, and hadn't really noticed it, while Gwenhwyfar consumed far more wine than she should have.

At one point, when Arthur tried to cuddle with her, she quite literally exploded: “Get off of me you heathen! Cursed with your wickedness, abiding the lies whispered into your ears!”

“Calm yourself, dearest,” Arthur said, softly, “You have had much to drink—”

“Yes, perhaps I have, husband of mine, and I will have my say here as I have been thus been denied!” Gwenhwyfar hissed, “These... _beastly heathens_! They destroy everything you have sought to build, whispering their witchcraft and their lies, bewitching each and every one of you to do their bidding...”

“My lady, come, I will bring you to your chamber...” one of the knights placated her, but she would have none of it.

“They will corrupt you all! This... this monstrous, disgusting thing... evil sorcery, and you permit it! I despise you, all of you! And you!!” she shrieked, jabbing a finger at Arthur's chest, “I despise you Arthur Pendragon!”

“How dare you,” Aaron spoke, calmly. Yet, Rasalas could tell he was quite literally shaking with rage. “I've had quite enough of your holier-than-thou attitude, Lady Pendragon! How dare you, accuse us of being wicked and evil, when you keep doing terrible things to the man you made vows to!”

“I object to—”

“Silence,” Rasalas hissed, “I think Aaron has a right here.”

Arthur, meanwhile, had been shocked into silence by the young man.

“Yeah, 'an I gotta agree here. I'm just as christian as you are, ma'am... bein' a bitch ain't winnin' 'ya any points,” said Brady, quietly, “Bein' able to do magic don' make someone evil. If God didn't want it, he wouldn't have made it.”

“Thing is, every time you attack your husband in some way, you make him die just a little more inside. Tell me, how does that make you a good person in the eyes of God, _or_ the Goddess?” Rasalas added, standing. “No matter. I think we'll take our leave. My friends and I are obviously not welcome, so we'll find better company.”

Brady, Ryan, and Aaron quickly followed suit, with Accolon following a second later. They left the great hall, passed back into the sanctuary, then into Ryan's room.

“Rasalas.”

“Sir,” said Rasalas, realizing Arthur had followed, as had Lancelot.

“Our joining you will not be issue?”

“No, of c-c-c-course not, sire. When has it been in the p-p-past?”

“Your departure was on better terms in the past,” answered Lancelot, “There are some who may take your leaving as being permanent.”

“And some will likely wish it,” said Aaron, scowling, as they descended the stairs to the main floor.

“They'll be sadly mistaking,” said Rasalas, “We still have a lot of training ahead of us. Now let's leave that crap back at the castle. The whole point of the evening was to have a bit of fun.”

“Yeah. Talk about a t-t-total b-b-buzz-kill,” Ryan muttered.

As was typical, they found Sirius, Casey, Phil, Betty, and Corey gathered around the fire pit, the fire blazing brightly, although it was still fairly light out. At sight of Arthur, those already gathered rose to their feet.

“Your majesty,” Casey greeted.

“My lady,” Arthur returned, as Ryan and Rasalas gathered seats from the deck so people had places to sit. It was a case of both just summoning them with their wands.

“What happened, pup?” asked Sirius, easily able to read his godson.

“Gwen unloaded on Arthur and us, all at once,” said Rasalas, sucking in a deep breath. “The amount of hatred rolling off her... God... if the stare she was giving me could kill, I would have died many times over.”

“She's got a rather black-and-white picture of what Christianity is,” said Aaron, “Thing is, it's not, right? We all sin in some way. We all do terrible things. God knows that.”

“As does the goddess recognize we are not perfect, Aaron,” said Casey, “Every creature on this earth is born with flaws. To be perfect would challenge the order of things.”

“'ya look shook up, bro,” said Corey.

“Yeah, a little,” said Brady, again removing his cap and running a hand over the back of his head. “Sire, your wife's got a lotta hate there. It ain't healthy.”

“It is so noted, Mr. Gibson,” said Arthur, sadly. He parked himself in the seat that had been provided. “It is an ongoing matter which I have no earthly idea how to resolve.”

“To be honest, sir, I doubt you'll ever be able to do anything about it,” said Rasalas, “Gwen hates magic. It can't be more clear than that. No matter what you do, she'll never get over that.”

“And our acts at Beltane did not help matters,” Lancelot agreed, “That alone, would have led to the matter you now face, sir.”

“She called me a heathen,” Brady muttered, also taking a seat.

“Yeah, she called us all that, Brady,” said Rasalas, sitting beside him, “You said it best... she's carrying a lot of hate. I don't even know if a calming draught would have all that much of an effect.”

“Perhaps we might consider borrowing your dining room within the sanctuary for meals from this point on,” Arthur suggested.

“No. As much as I would like to, having you absent from the castle—”

“I would rather be absent from the castle, than to see my friends suffer abuses on the count of my wife,” said Arthur, firmly, “Your little companion is capable of providing meals for us, is he not?”

“I... well...”

“Kreacher will be more than willing to help, your majesty,” said Sirius.

Rasalas now resisted the urge to go bang his head against a wall somewhere.

“Kreacher, young friend!” Arthur called out.

_Pop_ . “His majesty call for Kreacher?” the elf asked.

“See ale and wine brought from the castle, if you will.”

“At once, sire.” Kreacher bowed low, then popped away.

“Well now. That was interesting,” said Sirius.

“Why?”

“The first time in quite some time I've ever seen Kreacher happy to follow someone's orders. Last time I remember, would have been when my mother was still alive.”

“I think he likely realizes who it was giving him the order, Sirius,” said Rasalas, “House elves are pretty smart, aren't they?”

“Very, yes, I would agree. In fact, I'm surprised you still haven't called on another little friend of yours... Dobby, if I remember correctly...”

it was then Rasalas was assaulted by another flash memory... a corridor, and another elf similar to Kreacher... but younger, maybe? Sending a tall wizard with silver hair flying down said corridor...

Oh yes, a dear friend indeed. Perhaps he needed to introduce him.

“Dobby?” Rasalas called, to no one in particular.

There came a noisy pop, and another house elf appeared in front of Rasalas. Indeed, he appeared much younger than Kreacher, with bulging eyes that better-resembled tennis balls, a long snout, and bat-like ears.

“Harry Potter sir!” the elf squeaked, then stepped back, looking momentarily confused. “You aren't Harry Potter! Where is Harry—”

“Dobby, stop.”

Dobby again looked confused, and then it dawned on Rasalas.

“Dobby. It's still me, except that it's not.”

“Ooh. Harry Potter sir is wearing a disguise,” said Dobby.

“Yes, exactly. Except that it's rather permanent, as a result of an accident I had at the end of last summer. So I need for you to call me Rasalas, as that's the name I've adopted. Rasalas Black. Can you do that?”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically.

“Great. I called for you because I might need a little bit of help.”

“Dobby will help the great Razzy, but...” Dobby's ears drooped a little, and he looked nervous. “It... it would be better if I was bonded.”

“You want to bond with me?”

“To do so, would be Dobby's greatest desire, Razzy sir.”

That had a few of the others laughing.

“All right. What must I do? From what I know, house elves are normally passed through the family from house head to house head...”

Dobby knelt in front of Rasalas, and bowed his head.

“Dobby swears on his life and his magic to serve Rasalas Black until he dies, or is freed. Dobby will do all that is asked of him, by Rasalas Black. Dobby promises to always protect and never betray Rasalas Black's secrets.”

Rasalas could feel the surge of magic connecting them, and knew he was expected to make a promise in return.

“And I, Rasalas Antares Black, promise to take care of you, Dobby, to treat you fairly and with respect, however long you remain in my service. Before these witnesses, and before the great Goddess. So be it, so mote it be.”

“You channel old words, Rasalas,” said Sirius, “More than a few old families have long forgotten them.”

“By choice, Padfoot,” said Rasalas, “Though I'd love to know how the families get around making this oath, and instead treating their elves no better than slaves.”

Sirius looked a little guilty. “Because the oath isn't normally required, Rasalas. I want you to promise me something. That when I pass on, if Kreacher is still alive, perform the oath with him.”

“You have my word,” said Rasalas. He now felt light-headed, from the magical surge he'd just been treated to.

It was then that Kreacher reappeared, bringing with him a keg that was almost as big as he was. Arthur immediately climbed to his feet to help, as did Accolon. Mugs were also produced, and with the keg set up, Accolon set the tap in place.

“My word. I had not expected him to bring an entire cask,” said Arthur, though he looked amused.

“Did Kreacher not do well?” asked the elf.

“No, Kreacher, it is fine. Thank you for your help.”

“Kreacher, a moment, if you please,” said Rasalas, “I have a bit of news that will affect you slightly.”

“Kreacher is listening.”

“You know of Dobby?”

“Kreacher knows of him,” said Kreacher, narrowing his eyes at the other elf.

“Dobby is now in my service, as you are partially. So he'll be in and about.”

“Dobby is working for the young master?”

“Yes, Kreacher sir,” Dobby answered.

The older elf's demeanour softened. “Kreacher is pleased with Dobby's choice.”

“Help me understand somethin',” said Corey, looking puzzled, “Y'all don' want freedom? Why?”

“Elves live to serve,” said Dobby, solemnly, “We is not meant to be freed, and some of us will die. Dobby is being an unusual elf, sir.” The last bit was said with a bit of a giggle.

Rasalas couldn't help but laugh.

“Err. Right. So those who do not know, this is Dobby, who... obviously, will be joining us from here on out. Dobby. I present some new friends. Brady, his brother Corey, his mum, Betty. Then we have Ryan and his mother, Casey, his father, Phil, and his mate, Aaron. You know Sirius, of course. Lastly, Arthur Pendragon, and his first knight, Lancelot, and finally, we have Accolon of north Wales.”

At mention of the famous names, Dobby bowed his head out of respect.

“Dobby is pleased to meet so many new friends of Razzy!”

“And likewise, young friend, the honour is mine,” said Arthur, bending down so he was at eye-level. “You have known Rasalas for some time.”

“Yes, your majesty, Dobby has known Razzy since his second year at Hogwarts. Former master tried to do horrible things that year.”

“Ron told me a little about how we first met. You had me framed for using magic at my relatives,” said Rasalas, “Ron's brothers actually had to break me out of their 'prison'.”

“Dobby is sorry, but Dobby only wanted to protect you, Rasalas sir...”

The next hour went by, as Dobby gave a personal account of Rasalas' second year at Hogwarts. Sirius looked furious, hearing of the neglect and indifference the headmaster had paid the school. People being petrified?! The school should have been closed after the first incident!

Rasalas, meanwhile, was content to just listen, and nurse another mug of ale. It was slightly stronger than the stuff that was typically available at the Sawyers'... perhaps he might investigate how difficult it would be to keep such a thing stocked in the sanctuary. Ale, mead, and their wine... the wine was nice too, come to think of it.

The sun had long set, the fire now being the brightest light on the property, save for a number of light strings that had been hung under the gazebo. The pool, too, had been lit, though up to this point, there had not been the opportunity for a night swim.

The episode of earlier was virtually forgotten, and if Arthur had to admit, the gathering around the fire was much more intimate than the boisterous event they had left. It was something he would see repeated. Gawain and a few others were most certainly more than capable of standing in his place, should it be necessary, and with them not being really all that far from contact, if something did come up, it would be nothing for them to return to the castle.

Rasalas, the young wizard, was passed out in his seat, though his head had rolled and now rested on Brady's shoulder. They had the most bizarre relationship, the king had to admit, having observed their behaviour around one another. It went beyond romance or sex, that much was for certain—and if he had to guess, neither activity was actually practised between them. One completed the other. Two pieces of a puzzle that just... fit. Two individuals that under normal circumstances, should not have met, according to their backgrounds. Yet, there they were.

If Arthur thought about it... there wasn't anyone in his life he shared that sort of relationship with. Not even his sister. Not even his wife. Of course, his marriage as a whole was unravelling in slow, agonizing detail. He fought hard not to think about it, but... no, it was clear as mud. His wife loathed his existence. Aaron, Brady, and Rasalas had all pointed that out quite well only hours earlier.

No matter. He took a swig of his ale. If his wife wanted to act like a naive babe, with no inkling for how the world truly worked, then so be it. Perhaps Rasalas might enjoy further company within his magical chamber...

A distraction came in the form of Brady licking one of his fingers, and sticking it in Rasalas' ear. The young wizard shot up out of his seat, startled at such a thing being done to him. It had felt like something was trying to crawl into his ear!

“Wanker,” he muttered.

“You was droolin' on me.”

“So you stuck something wet in my ear. Okay then.” And Rasalas seized up his half-finished mug of ale, and dumped it in Brady's lap. That had him leap out of his seat, and the chase was on, though somewhat comical, considering both were quite intoxicated.

Sirius smirked, producing his wand, and conjuring up a water balloon, and sent it in Brady's direction.

“Mr. Gibson! Catch!”

Brady spotted the projectile, and snatched it on his way past, while Rasalas glared at his godfather, muttering promises of revenge later. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry—

SPLAT. Full in the face.

“This means war,” Rasalas smirked, the water dripping down the front of him. He produced his wand, and Brady knew better than to just stand there. “ _Incarcerous_!”

The magical ropes missed by feet, but Rasalas had a better idea. He disappeared with a noisy crack, to appear beside the pool. He again levelled his wand at his friend. “ _Accio_ Brady!”

It was like he'd been snagged by a giant hook, and Brady was flying across the yard, helpless. If anything, it was somewhat alarming. What if it weren't a friend? A Death Eater could do the same thing, right? Too late, Rasalas had grabbed him be his belt.

“Time to swim, Gibson...”

And the two struggled with each other for a minute, before Rasalas finally won out, being a little bigger than Brady was. Still, Brady fought every inch of the way, before Rasalas was finally able to lift him up over the side, and dump him in the water. He resurfaced a moment later, minus his hat, rubbing his eyes.

“Fucker.”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Rasalas sniggered. “You make an adorable drowned rat, y'know.”

That earned him a rude gesture.

“Yeah, 'an payback's a bitch.”

Suddenly, Rasalas felt his feet leave the ground, and a moment later, he found himself beside his friend, drenched from head to toe. Two other wands present, not counting the Auror protection, and considering Ryan still didn't know a whole lot, that left only one suspect.

“Payback, Padfoot. When you least expect it,” Rasalas vowed.

“Bring it, Prongs Junior,” Sirius laughed, before raising his mug in a toast.

“Ry, I think those two are having more fun than we are,” said Aaron, grinning madly.

“Rather just observe. Ready for s-sleep, I think. Still... a t-toast to our soggy friends! We're w-with you in spirit!” Ryan called out, raising his mug.

Brady, meanwhile, fished his soggy cap out of the water, shook it out, and jammed it back on his head.

“My poor boots...”

“Stop wearing them in the yard, then,” Rasalas smirked, “Now let's get out and get dried off... and get refills on our ale.”

“Likin' the sound of that.”

“Oh. And one more thing, Mr. Gibson,” said Rasalas, sweetly, “Should you stick a wet finger in my ear ever again, I'll lock you in a broom closet filled with bats.”

Brady blanched. Oh  _hell_ no, he shouted in his head. Snakes, and bats... God oh God, no.

“And I know you might be saying to yourself, 'he wouldn't'... count on it. Transfiguring an object into something live is tricky, but most certainly possible.”

“Can I say 'uncle' now?”

“Glad we understand each other,” Rasalas grinned.

Brady responded by tackling Rasalas about the waist, and toppling him back into the water. They both surfaced, with Rasalas sputtering, having not expected the attack. And then it was a wrestling match, as the pair thrashed about, trying to dunk each other.

“Good grief,” said Casey, “They act almost as bad as Ryan and Aaron.”

“No. They'll never go as far as we do,” Aaron smirked. “Brady would likely knock Ras' teeth in if... y'know.”

“Don't mean we c-can't fantasize,” Ryan grinned.

“That's my brother you're talkin' about,” Corey scowled.

“Yeah, we know. Uh... right. We'll leave it,” said Aaron, realizing they were getting close to a line.

“They love each other far deeper than that, Mr. Gibson,” said Arthur, “The bond they share is, dare I say, magical. My aunt might have better understanding of such things, but do know that, much is left unsaid, unexpressed, because there is no need to.”

“I ain't understandin'... you tellin' me my brother's queer?”

“The meaning of the word 'queer' is—”

Both Ryan and Aaron looked furious.

Casey was on her feet in an instant. “That word will not be used again in this household, Mr. Gibson. You offend me, you offend my son, and most certainly you offend others present with such ignorance!”

“Sorry.”

“Good.”

“For your information, your majesty, 'queer' is a derogatory term for someone who is gay—homosexual.”

“I now understand your offence to it being used. And to clarify my words of a moment ago, no, I do not believe your brother is gay. Though it will remain to be seen whether or not he seeks out a partner. 

“I do have to then wonder, how would you react, should his choice be of his own sex? Would you cast him out, and deny to have ever known him? Or would you simply accept him for who he is? Do you follow _all_ of Christ's teachings, or only choose those parts of his message that come convenient?”

* * *

_June 20_

The contractor was back, this time to install the in-ground pool. Rasalas ended up stepping away from training for several hours, if only to make sure everything was in hand—Sirius would look after things for the most part, but Rasalas had wanted to be on hand for the start of construction.

The pool would have a gradual slope, something akin to a beach, becoming deeper, until it reached a depth of eleven feet at its deepest point. That facilitated a diving board, and the possible future addition of a slide. The plan also called for a patio to surround the pool, and extend right up to the house, where stairs already led up to the wrap-around porch.

The contractor estimated about two weeks to complete the job. Rasalas had to grin at that news. Right at the beginning of summer, then. He was already making plans for the Weasleys to visit, quite possibly for the duration of the summer. Hearing the horrors of the townhouse Sirius owned in London... no. Besides, it would be a fantastic escape for the family, the second in a year for them. They could then experience the steam train, the rides... maybe part of the Labour Day event... ah, the possibilities...

* * *

_June 23_

For the second time in a week, there was another feast of some sort at Camelot. With Gwenhwyfar elsewhere—entertaining guests of her own was Arthur's explanation—Rasalas was once again in attendance, as were his close friends. Rasalas was finding it increasingly difficult to say 'no' to Arthur, and... there were similarities to how he felt around Brady. It was enough to make his head spin!

That night, however, there were other distractions afoot, namely the odd sensations he was getting from Voldemort—at least he believed it to be Voldemort, if the throbbing in his curse-scar was any indication.

“Are you well, my lord?” questioned one of the knights, seeing Rasalas wince again.

“It's... it's nothing,” Rasalas muttered.

“Voldemort,” Brady guessed, to which Rasalas gave an annoyed nod. “Don't know what he's doing, but God...”

“Perhaps you might wish to go rest,” suggested another.

“No, 's fine,” Rasalas muttered, before taking another swig of his ale, “It's uncomfortable, but nothing like it used to be. Learning loads with Viviane.”

“Such a connection is most unholy, Rasalas,” said Patricius.

“Tell me something I don't already know. It's very dark magic that no one really understands. And honestly, it marks up my head.”

“I think is' cool,” Brady muttered, reaching over and rubbing his head.

“Says you. It ain't a tattoo.”

The hour grew later, with more music, food and drink. Brady had a go on the lute, to the joy of those present, while the young bard tried to keep up on the harp. It was a struggle to say the least, considering Brady's playing style.

The terrible spike of pain came without warning, causing Rasalas to nearly double over, holding his head. With it, came a great surge of emotion: joy, if it could be described. Voldemort was  _happy_ about something. Something had happened that made the Dark Lord happy? It meant—

Rasalas could feel the ring on his finger shifting, and he glanced at it, just in time to see it change. The heir ring morphed to become the Black signet ring. The ring worn by the Lord Black. The ring Sirius had been wearing that very morning. The ring that could not be removed forcibly or by coercion. Only willingly, or...

“ _SIRIUS_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: We discover what has Rasalas in a panic, the aftermath having far-reaching consequences; and a conversation with Kreacher leads Bill to a horrifying conclusion..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: You guys all knew that was coming, right? Not everything went down as in canon, with regard to “Order of the Phoenix”, but most definitely, a number of things still proceed as normal. So now, how will Harry/Rasalas react? And of course, how will he deal with those responsible? Remember, this is a VERY DIFFERENT Harry Potter than we see in canon by this point._


	24. Unwanted Transition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We discover what has Rasalas in a panic, the aftermath having far-reaching consequences; and a conversation with Kreacher leads Bill to a horrifying conclusion..._

**207\. UNWANTED TRANSITION  
June 23 – 28, 2006**

> “Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life.”

  
\- Anne Roiphe

“SIRIUS!!!” Rasalas cried out again, clumsily trying to stand, and not having much success. “NO! Sirius!!”

Brady grabbed hold of him, trying to keep him in his seat, but he wasn't in all that great shape himself—and quite honestly, Rasalas was bigger than he was.

“Help me for Christ's sake!”

Accolon, sitting on the other side of Rasalas, stepped in, and between them, were finally able to get the young wizard restrained. Ryan finally snapped out of the shock he was in, and drew his wand.

“S-s-stupefy.”

Nothing happened.

“Gods... ssssss... ss-stupefy!”

Again, nothing happened, while Rasalas continued to fight against being restrained, confused, bewildered, angry? At this point, no one knew quite what was running through the young wizard's mind.

“S- _stupefy_!”

Rasalas finally slumped forward, with Ryan being able to cast the stunning spell.

“Help me get 'im upstairs,” Brady decided. He felt hot and light-headed after the unexpected fight, though realistically, it had only lasted for about thirty seconds. Still, he now knew Rasalas was rather strong. No way he would have kept him restrained on his own.

Between him, Accolon, Aaron, and Arthur, they managed to get him up the stairs and into Arthur's private rooms. They then passed through the door into the sanctuary, to be greeted with an unusual sight.

Phil and Casey were both there, seated before the fire, along with Corey and his mother. It looked like they'd all been woken from their beds. Two of the four Aurors normally responsible for patrolling the two properties were also present, and the doors leading to both Rasalas' house and the Sawyers' were closed.

“Ma... Da.... what... what's g-g-g-going on?”

“Everyone come take a seat,” said Auror Jackson, before noticing Rasalas was unconscious. “What happened?”

“He... I s-s-stunned him, he was g-g-g-going on about Sirius. He was d-d-demanding to see Sirius.”

“That might be part of our problem,” said the second Auror.

“The ministry is in lock down as of about fifteen minutes ago,” said Auror Jackson, gravely.

“Why was such detail not brought to our attention?” questioned Accolon, “The owner of this chamber should have been made aware, am I not correct?”

“Your arrival was just in time.”

“Lock down. So what's it mean?” asked Brady, as they helped put Rasalas on one of the couches. He then took a seat beside him. “Dobby.”

_Pop_ . “Razzy's Gibby call for Dobby?”

Brady rolled his eyes at the foolish nickname. “Calming draught, thank you.”

“Dobby will be right back!” He popped away.

“Too much energy.”

“Right. So this is the thing,” said Auror Jackson. “Floo's been put on emergency only. Port key use is being monitored extra-closely, as are common apparition points from abroad. Protection detail around the non-magical government is elevated—though I can't discuss in what manner. Courts are closed, the Wizengamot—oh, scratch that, they're adjourned until the first week in July—but if they were in session it would be adjourned until the crisis passes... uh... every Auror is recalled from leave, Wizarding Wireless and our newspapers are given protection detail.”

_Pop_ . Dobby had returned, bringing with him a small potion bottle.

“Thank you,” said Brady, accepting the bottle. Dobby nodded enthusiastically, and popped away.

“Allow me to help,” Arthur offered, sitting on the opposite side of Rasalas.

“Hold his head then.”

Arthur tipped Rasalas' head back slightly, while Brady un-stoppered the vial. He then tipped the vial into the young wizard's mouth, and messaged the throat to get him to swallow it.

“So we're talkin' terrorism, then,” Corey guessed.

A dark look crossed the Auror's face. “It's very possible, yes. Again, at this time I have very few details. We simply received a Patronus message ordering us to remove all of you to a secure location until further notice.”

“Avalon,” said Arthur. “We could retreat to Avalon.”

“Not without my mother's permission,” said Lancelot, looking bleary-eyed.

“But some of us can,” said Ryan, “G-g-get there early, even if we j-j-just camp out on the lawn.”

“Here. Give this to Rasalas. It's a mild sedative.”

“Sleep's prob'ly the last thing he wants,” said Brady, scowling.

“He does need to know what's going on, and travel by port key is not a great idea unconscious,” said Auror Jackson.

“And we will need some place to sleep, son,” said Phil, “God, Auror Jackson scared the daylights out of us.”

“We thought you might have been killed,” said Casey. She still appeared shook up.

“Ma, Da, f-f-f-follow me.” He seemed to close his eyes a moment, then opened them. “Uh... Corey and Mrs. G-g-g-gibson, same th-thing.”

He turned back to his friends. “D-d-don't leave without m-m-me.”

“Can't anyway,” said Brady, “Ras has to make the port key, right?”

While Ryan led his parents, Corey, and Betty back toward the bedrooms, Auror Jackson at last woke Rasalas.

“Sirius!” he cried out.

“Ras. Shhhh... look at me,” said Brady, “We're needin' your help, 'an it ain't no good if you're all freakin' out.”

Rasalas sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to still his pounding heart.

“Sirius...”

“Rasalas. We're still trying to figure out what's going on,” said Auror Jackson, “But we're in lock down right now, and Arthur is suggesting you guys go to Avalon until things are safe.”

“What's going on...” Rasalas snorted. He let out a laugh, but it was hollow. “This... this tells me all I need to know.” He held up his hand, showing the signet ring.

“We still don't know for sure.”

“You don't have any clue how the lordship rings work!” Rasalas snarled, trying to stand. Brady kept him in place, with Arthur also putting a hand on his chest. He gave both of them a nasty look, but ploughed on. “They're tied to my magic... to his magic... the magic knows... when something happens. Only way I can wear this ring... is if Sirius is gone. So piss off with your platitudes, Auror.”

“How 'bout this? How long we stuck here? How long's the lock down gonna last?” Brady asked.

“I would guarantee at least a number of hours, likely mid-morning sometime, if not lunch time at the earliest.”

“A complete ministry lock down is done only in the gravest of circumstances. A credible threat against the ministry itself,” said the second Auror.

Rasalas let out a snort. “Yeah. Credible threat all right. Voldemort.”

“We have that suspicion, yes,” Auror Jackson agreed, “So it could be many hours before things settle down. Make sure both Viviane and Morgaine are aware of that.”

“There will be training—”

“Accolon, it is unlikely we will be participating in any sort of lesson for the next little while,” said Lancelot, “Our young wizard friend has suffered a great loss, only being notified by a magical artefact. Grief will cloud his mind, making it unproductive.”

Rasalas said nothing, knowing what Lancelot said was entirely true. His heart was still hammering away in his chest, as the crushing reality swirled around in his head. The man hand-chosen by his parents to act in their stead, to advocate for him on their behalf... was gone. How? Why? Who was responsible?

Of course, he had a few suspects in mind... or perhaps a lot... but all of them followed a monster. And one way or another... Rasalas would learn the identity of that person... and they would pay. They would pay many times over.

Ryan returned from the rooms, looking unsettled himself.

“Uh... l-l-let's get to Avalon. Ma wants us to g-g-g-go.”

“Ras. We need a port key,” said Brady.

“Give me something.”

“Will this do?” asked Arthur, passing over an empty bottle that had been resting on a nearby table.

“Fine. Let my arm free...” Rasalas produced his wand, and touched the bottle. “ _Portus_.” It shimmered blue a moment.

Less than thirty seconds later, the port key dropped them on the lawn of Avalon. It was already starting to get light, with the stars fading. Ryan recovered first, but shakily dropped to his knees and closed his eyes.

“Mother Goddess... w-w-we come before y-y-y-you on your holy isle, seeking your s-s-strength and g-g-guidance. Your champion has s-s-s-suffered great loss... but y-y-you already know that. He n-n-needs your strength, your g-g-grace... and so do I. W-we all need your strength right now.”

* * *

Sometime later, Rasalas awoke to voices speaking softly nearby. Something felt... strange, though he couldn't place it exactly. He felt warm... and safe. If he thought about it, he didn't want to move, and break the state he was in. But... whoever it was spooned up beside him... it wasn't Brady. He knew by now what Brady smelled like. He smelled nice... always smelled nice. This person... he smelled... like the outdoors. And... was that a blanket?

Rasalas finally dared open his eyes, but found it impossible to move, as there was someone else spooned up against his back. Ah. Of course. It was no surprise that Brady hadn't gone too far. And yes, someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the three of them at one point. It was very comfortable... just a natural state... considering the disaster of earlier that morning.

Sirius. Why Sirius? His last living parental figure in any legal sense was gone. Adult he was, but Rasalas was in no shape to strike forth in the world. Sirius was a voice of reason at times... he'd acted more like a big brother of late... but really. He was a parent when it came to a number of legal matters. He was family. And someone took him away.

“Rasalas.” 

Rasalas looked up to see Viviane, Morgaine, and a few of the sisterhood close by.

“Lancelot has told us of dark incidents unfolding in your world.”

“Yeah, you could call it that.”

“'s too early,” Brady muttered, rolling over onto his back. Rasalas took the opportunity to do the same, but wasn't interested in doing too much more. The blanket, though...

“Forgive the intrusion this morning. Err... would it be possible for someone to conjure a cover? Something other than the blanket. I would rest here for a while longer.”

“Of course.”

Viviane simply waved her hand, and the blanket vanished, replaced by a large umbrella.

“Thank you.”

“Though w-w-we do have a portable c-c-c-canopy in the house,” said Ryan, “B-b-but I dunno if Dobby would be able to f-f-find it.”

He and Aaron were sitting at the water's edge, but they were within earshot.

“I think house elves are pretty good at finding things,” said Rasalas, somewhat appreciative of the distraction. Arthur shifted slightly, then rolled so he was partially on top of Rasalas. “Err... okay, then.”

“I would assume there will be no training today,” said Morgaine.

“No. My mind... I'm still processing this. I guess... I'll be needing some time. If... if these guys wanna carry on, then so be it, but... I need some time.”

“Young wizard...” said Arthur, slowly opening his eyes, “We are beside you as you grieve. Some of it you must do alone, but not all of it. Am I right?”

“I... I guess.”

Arthur rolled back onto his side, then onto his back.

“I never had the chance to grieve for my father. With so much ongoing, the Saxon invasion, there just wasn't time. By the time things had settled, too much time had passed, and I had moved on.

“Rasalas, you have lost a parent, by all purpose of the word. Take the time needed, and see to the wound on your heart.”

“Arthur speaks wise words,” said Viviane.

“M-m-maybe the first fire-call we make should be to Theresa,” said Ryan, “A p-p-professional opinion w-w-won't hurt, right?”

* * *

They took lunch under the umbrella, before Rasalas decided to finally get up off the ground (though there had been a very comfortable cushioning charm placed on it—no wonder he'd been so comfortable), and do something other than sulk. His state of mind, however, wouldn't really allow for any sort of training. So what to do. Flying, of course!

They ended up spending the afternoon in the air. Flying in Brady's virtual homestead might have been amazing, but taking flight over Avalon was something entirely different. They found the place was truly enormous, although not on the same scale of Brady's creation. It took perhaps fifteen minutes to fly from one end to the other, before they bumped into the wards. Or in this case, the thickening mists. It was warning enough that they needed turn back, or end up on the other side. Rasalas could just create another port key, but... he preferred to stay in the air.

Flying felt a little different with Arthur on the back rather than Brady... just as it had been different to wake up with Arthur spooned up against him. But still, it felt... nice. Natural. As though it had been Arthur instead of Brady all this time, with Brady being only a place-holder.

He scowled in his head. Yeah, right. Brady would just  _love_ being referred to in  _that_ way. And beside the point, even if Arthur  _did_ like him in such a manner, he did have a wife back at the castle—as cold as she was toward him. Interfering further would only escalate matters.

Finally, Rasalas knew his time in Arthur's world was limited, and could end at any time. He was there at the Goddess' pleasure. When time was up... time was up. There was no pleading, no begging for an extension. Once Rasalas had learned what he needed to learn... that was it. Last thing he needed was to become entangled in an impossible relationship. His heart was already shattered with the loss of Sirius.

* * *

They landed on the lawn late in the afternoon, with Rasalas guessing it was getting close to dinner. Since there was no message back from the Aurors, it was assumed the lock down was still in effect. They still needed to eat, and so Rasalas summoned Dobby.

“Is dinner out yet?”

“We is helping to make it, Master Rasalas,” answered the elf, enthusiastically.

“Great. That's great. When it's ready, can you bring it here?”

“Is all of you staying here then?”

“Just until it's safe again. Have you heard anything the Aurors are saying?”

“They is saying the ministry in London was attacked, Master Rasalas, and the Dark Lord was looking for something.”

“Did they say what it was?”

“No, Dobby didn't hear exactly, but they was mentioning the Department of Mysteries.”

Now it fit. The dream he'd been party to for most of the year. The door into the Department of Mysteries.

“Keep your ears open, please. I know they'll likely tell me what's going on, but... not always all of it. I know Dumbledore liked to keep secrets from me... so I still don't put a whole lot of stock in authority figures. All right, off you go.”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically, before popping away.

It was then Rasalas spotted a boat break through the mists. There was a single passenger—male, judging by the robes he wore. He was seated, and Rasalas could feel his eyes fixed on him as the boat crossed, heading toward the small landing. The man looked like Dumbledore... but he wasn't. He carried an aura about him that spoke of someone much older... much wiser.

As the boat touched the edge of the landing, two of the sisterhood were already present, helping the old man from the boat. Once on land, he made a track toward where Rasalas and his friends were gathered, once again beneath the large umbrella. Rasalas had a good idea who it was, but Arthur gave voice to it before he did.

“Merlin! It has been long since our last meeting,” Arthur greeted him warmly.

“Likewise, Arthur.”

Now, Rasalas scrambled to his feet, and bowed his head.

“We're honoured at your presence, sir.”

That had everyone else hurrying to their feet.

“I am no king, friends, though your welcome touches the heart. Your lessons have moved at steady pace?”

“Save for today, sir,” Rasalas answered.

“Ah. A heavy heart does dampen one's concentration,” said Merlin. He gave a wave of a hand, producing a comfortable chair, and sat down. “This shade... it is of Viviane's creation.”

“We c-c-camped here this morning,” said Ryan, “Our normal... uh... sleeping quarters aren't s-s-safe.”

“Do not think it troublesome. If the Goddess has permitted you here, she does not then impose limits.”

Rasalas again felt Merlin's eyes boring into his.

“Ah. You have trained in the mind arts.”

“I've needed to, sir. And quite frankly, my head's a scary place even without the barriers.”

“They are most impressive. Though I lament that you have access to such terrible memories, child. No one should ever suffer such things.”

“That's everyone else,” said Rasalas, sadly, “Me... I'm an exception.”

Arthur coaxed Rasalas to sit back down, with the others quickly following suit.

“How is it you came to have such damaged memories, child?” Merlin questioned.

“Without Brady here... I would have died. Uh... this is Brady, Ryan, and Aaron. Being daft as usual, forgetting introductions.”

“Of course.” A round of handshakes ensued.

Rasalas started again. “As I was saying, if it weren't for Brady, I would have died. Instead, the damage messed up my head. So now I can't remember anything from about ten months ago, with a few exceptions.

“Ryan and his family have been... well, they stood in for family... gave me a place to stay, helped me get back on my feet. And Brady... well, he might as well be a brother by this point.”

“And your magical tutelage, it has come from other sources, before you set foot in Avalon?”

“Yeah. A place called Hogwarts. I've studied four years there, though I don't remember any of the classes. Though I do have knowledge of spells and how to cast them... the why... the theory behind them, I've actually had to go back and do a lot of revision—err... review.”

The discussion continued for another hour, with Merlin asking all of them plenty of questions about their own world. Nothing specific about future events, he knew of the dangers of posing such questions... but questions about the politics, his education, and the like, were all safe territory.

When Dobby returned announcing dinner was ready, he was held speechless for several moments, taking in the great wizard in the group.

“The Great Merlin!” Dobby squeaked, excited.

“And greetings to you, little friend. Under whose service do you fall?”

“The great Rasalas, Merlin sir!”

“You know about house elves?” Rasalas then mentally kicked himself. Of course Merlin would know of such things!

“Oh yes. Their sense of duty and loyalty is in many cases never matched, though I believe this you already knew. I do hope you would never violate such trust and devotion.”

“No, I wouldn't. Dobby here is one of two elves I have in the family. The other—”

“Is helping mistresses in the kitchen,” Dobby answered.

“Oh. Good. How does he look?”

“He is being happy, master Razzy.”

Rasalas rolled his eyes at the butchering of his name. “Right. So I take it dinner is ready?”

“It is being so, sirs. Is the great Merlin joining you?”

“No, although the invitation is welcomed. I must make my way up to visit Viviane. And Arthur, if I might have words later.”

“Of course,” said Arthur.

Merlin rose, and everyone else quickly followed suit.

“Be well, young Rasalas. And I leave you with this thought. The birds always sing after a storm. Why should we not also?”(1)

Rasalas felt a great lump form in his throat, as Merlin vanished the conjured chair, and began to make his way across the lawn, up to the living quarters.

“Come. Let us sit,” Arthur coaxed, getting Rasalas to sit back down on the blanket. “Dobby, if you would collect our supper for us.”

“Right away, sire!” Dobby popped away.

The day ended much as it had started with everyone sitting together, with the umbrella being traded for a larger canopy, which covered all of them quite nicely. Dobby had also brought along a bunch of pillows, making it much more comfortable to sit. The jugs of wine and the cask of ale had also been kept from dinner, though the contents were consumed much more slowly than on previous nights.

Ryan and Aaron were once again sitting at the waters' edge, boots and trainers set just behind them, while they dangled their feet in the water. The pair had actually gone in the water at some point—not all that surprising, really. A reasonably warm body of water, and they would be in it, particularly now that Ryan knew how to cast both cleaning and warming charms.

Rasalas, meanwhile, wasn't really interested in doing a whole lot, finding comfort in between Brady and Arthur. The king had stepped away for an hour or so, stepping into the quarters for a word with Merlin, but returned after, to simply return to where he'd been sitting.

* * *

It was the middle of the following morning before a message arrived informing them the lock down had been lifted. After picking up after themselves, the group took a port key back to the sanctuary. Auror Jackson guided them into the dining room, where Bill was waiting.

“What happened?” Rasalas questioned, simply.

“You know we were watching the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, right?”

“Yeah. It's why your dad was attacked,” Rasalas remembered.

“Voldemort tried to get into the Department of Mysteries last night—about 3 am our time. He brought with him about twelve or fifteen of his closest followers. Horace Bennett—you wouldn't remember him... he was watching the door, and got a message out before he was...

“Anyway. We got there and they'd already got into the Department itself.”

“Where was security?” Brady wondered.

“Our question too,” said Bill, “No Aurors on duty, no nothing. Any witch or wizard could have strolled into the place unopposed. There'll be an investigation, I reckon.

“We found the Death Eaters in the prophecy room. It's... it was a room with many shelves, all of them containing glass orbs, each of them being a prophecy...”

“'ya mean, a real prophecy,” said Brady.

“Yes. They're very real, if they come from the right kind of person. According to Dumbledore, Sibyll Trelawney, our Divination professor, has made two of them... one of them has already come to pass.”

And now, Rasalas was treated to yet another flash memory. A hot, perfume-filled classroom, a teacher? The teacher Bill had just mentioned... speaking in harsh tones:

“ _It will happen tonight. The dark lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight... The servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The dark lord will rise again with his servants aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight... Before midnight... the servant... will set out... to rejoin... his master...”_

“Rasalas?” Arthur questioned, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“What? Oh.”

“'ya rememberin' somethin'?” came Brady's question.

“Yeah. One of the prophecies Trelawney made... it was about me. It was the night Peter Pettigrew escaped.”

“So your 'Order' was watching a prophecy,” Arthur guessed.

Bill nodded slowly. “Yeah. Until yesterday morning. Voldemort got to it just as we stormed in. It was broken, so he doesn't know the contents... but a few of us have a suspicion he may know of part of it.”

“'an who knows all of it?” asked Brady.

“We think Dumbledore does, at a minimum.”

“Surprise, surprise!” Rasalas exclaimed, sarcastically, “That man keeps secrets on top of secrets. Ten to one it's something about me.”

“And if it was Voldemort l-l-looking for it... my bet, it involves him t-t-too,” Ryan reasoned.

“So what happened next?” Rasalas prompted.

“It was then a running fight through the secret department. I think most of the time-turners the ministry had were ruined somehow. And Hestia Jones was attacked by a bunch of things that looked like a brain... they had weird tentacles coming off of them, from what I was told(2). She's recovering at St. Mungo's.”

“How did Sirius die?”

“We arrived at this rather strange room with a bizarre frame in the middle of it, up on a dais. The frame had a tattered curtain fluttering in it... anyway, we duelled about eight of Voldemort's Death Eaters while Albus was tied up with Voldemort.”

“What happened?” Rasalas pressed again, getting impatient.

“Belletrix Lestrange hit him with a banishing curse. He was pushed into the curtain... and he just disappeared. Rasalas. I'm sorry,” Bill apologized.

“At least...” Rasalas began, but stopped, feeling his eyes water. He reached up and rubbed them. “At least... I have a name. I'll make her pay for it. One way or another.”

“How otherwise did your side fare, Mr. Weasley?” asked Accolon.

“Mostly injuries that were fixable. We did lose two others, and we think Cyrus Crabbe was blasted through the strange veil as well. We are certain it was a Death Eater.”

“Good. Maybe we can pitch the lot of them through the cursed thing, before I blast it from here to oblivion,” said Rasalas, nastily. “What the fuck do they have something like that for?!”

Casey gave him a glare, which Rasalas answered with one of his own. “Do not scold me for my language! This is my bloody house and I'll fucking curse until I'm  _blue_ ! I lost the the one person who was truly my parent, so I  _think_ I have latitude!”

“Rasalas,” said Arthur, again placing a hand on the young wizard's shoulder, “It is not constructive to lash out at those who care for you.”

Rasalas sucked in a breath, then blew it out. “Forgive me. It's just...”

“We're all here f-f-for you, Ras. Just like back in S-s-september. It's n-n-no different now.”

* * *

It was another day before Casey, Phil, and Betty were allowed to return to the house. Though the lock down had been lifted, Auror Jackson wanted to be sure everything was back to normal before relaxing the security.

Rasalas was then able to meet with Kate, though very quickly he realized, she already knew about events. He didn't question it, given she was most capable of discovering information on her own. Her law firm was highly-sought out, both magically and non-magically, as he had learned months earlier. During the meeting, Rasalas asked her to dispatch another set of letters assigning the Black proxy to Madam Bones. It was likely that would have already been done, but better to be sure, rather than for Dumbledore to exploit the situation.

Likewise, with Theresa, she also knew of the disastrous events. Knowing of Rasalas' relationship with his godfather, she scheduled daily sessions for the next couple of weeks at a minimum. Knowing she was right, he readily agreed. Rather than spend the sessions in the sanctuary, he got permission from Viviane for them to hold their sessions at Avalon, as the place did have a massive calming effect on the young wizard.

In fact, for the next while, Rasalas spent most of his time on the magical isle. Though he did not return to training for nearly a week, he still took time to study the massive archive of scrolls and tomes. Even without actual training, there were other things to do. His interest in things going on back at the sanctuary, or at his home completely took a back seat—he was notified of the pool being completed, but he barely acknowledged it.

Surprisingly, it was Arthur who remained close to him during that time. The others worked with Morgaine, Viviane, or both, at the stone circle, continuing to expand their magical awareness. Arthur, though, chose to forgo the lessons, still greatly concerned for his new friend. They said very little to one another, but Arthur knew his presence was appreciated and welcomed—just as Lancelot would stand by Arthur's side, if something similar befell the king... and somehow, Arthur knew that, if the roles were reversed, Rasalas would do exactly the same thing.

Slowly and surely, however, things did return to a somewhat normal state. Rasalas finally rejoined the others in the stone circle, realizing that he could not stay idle any longer. Doing so was defeating the purpose of them being there in the first place. He redoubled his efforts, taking in every word, every lesson, every example, completely focused on learning everything he could.

* * *

_June 28_

In one of the few occasions where Rasalas took breakfast in the sanctuary rather than in the quarters at Avalon, he was surprised to find Bill there.

“Good to see you. Though—”

“It's nothing wrong,” said Bill, “I just wanted to check with you again about my family coming to join you for part of the summer.”

“Oh. Well of course! Bill, you guys will always be welcome here. Your mum and dad looked after me a few times... showed me kindness when my relatives did not. So you're as good as family... and if the Black family tree is right, we're sort of related as it is. When do they plan on coming? I'll make sure to clear the day so I'm here.”

“It'll likely be the 7th or 8th of July. Dad's going to arrange for a weeks' holidays, and...”

“Fawkes can get him back and forth to work,” said Rasalas.

“Oh. That'll be brilliant,” Bill grinned.

“And I'll have Kate get clearance from the ministry for them to be here. Officially until the beginning of September will be enough?”

“Oh, loads, Rasalas. Mum will likely want to get back home long before. Even the amount of time spent on Black Island was longer than she liked.”

“Even so, if Fred and George would like to stay here... or anyone else... they're always welcome.”

“Yeah. About that. You know of their plan to open a shop, right?”

“Uh. Sort of. I know I gave them a bag full of money at the end of... well, over a year ago now.”

“They want to open a shop in Diagon Alley. Now with the war unfolding, I would rather see them open up a shop here. Far away from the risk.”

“I'll see if I can help,” Rasalas promised.

“Mr. Weasley. Good morning,” Arthur greeted, as he and Accolon walked in from the common room.

“Likewise, sir,” said Bill, with a nod.

That coincided with the arrival of Brady, followed almost immediately after, with that of Ryan and Aaron. They both looked a little out of sorts, with Aaron's face being rather red, and a silly grin on his face. Rasalas didn't have to think all that hard to know what they'd been doing. He smirked.

“Maybe the pair of you need a cold shower.”

That earned him a rude gesture, as Aaron began to fill his plate.

“'sides, the shower was already occupied,” Ryan smirked, “I m-m-mean, we could have went in anyway, b-b-but he might not have liked our c-c-company.”

“Fuck off,” said Brady, as he took a seat beside Rasalas, and began to fix his own plate with breakfast.

“Ooo, touchy, are we?” Aaron smirked.

“Guys.” Rasalas rolled his eyes. “So Bill's just confirming, his family's going to be here starting on July 7th or 8th.”

“That's awesome,” said Aaron, “Make sure they bring their own brooms this time... I mean, the ones back at the manor got wrecked, right? We still owe Fred and George a rematch.”

That got a round of laughter. Both Aaron and Ryan had improved by leaps and bounds when it came to flying. The twins would be in for quite the awakening next time they met up.

A short time later, as they were finishing up, Rasalas felt someone tug at his shirt sleeve.

“Master, a word,” Kreacher croaked out.

Rasalas looked down at him. “Of course.”

“Master is performing the elf-bond with Dobby, and Kreacher is wondering...”

“You want to renew the bond. I'm sorry, Kreacher, I completely forgot, with all that's been going on. We can do it now, if you like.”

At the elf's nod, Rasalas stood up. Kreacher knelt in front of him, saying, “Kreacher swears on his life and magic to serve Rasalas Antares Black and the house for which he stands, until he shall die, or is released from this oath. Kreacher promises to follow all instructions given to him by the Lord Black. Kreacher finally promises to uphold, protect, and never reveal any of the family's secrets, now, and for ever.”

“And I, Rasalas Antares Black, promise to always take care of you, Kreacher, to treat you fairly and with respect, however long you remain in my service. Before these witnesses, and before the great Goddess. So be it, so mote it be.”

Kreacher rose, but bowed low. “Rasalas is like Regulus, he is.”

“Regulus. He was Sirius' younger brother, was he not? What was he like?” Rasalas questioned, retaking his seat at the table.

For nearly the next hour, they all listened, as Kreacher told them of Regulus, Sirius' younger brother. Further, he revealed the circumstances surrounding the younger wizard's death... a strange cave, a boat... and a terrible potion, all in the name of keeping a strange locket hidden.

“But... Kreacher, little friend. Help us understand. What is so important about the locket?” Arthur questioned.

“Master Regulus said it was the darkest magic, tearing the soul—”

Bill looked like he'd been struck in the gut with a bludger, as the terrible realization set in. “Hell and damnation... he's created a _Horcrux_ !”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas and his friends get a crash course on Horcruxes; the rest of Bill's family arrives, resulting in amusing introductions; and Dumbledore gets yet another introduction to Rasalas' wrath..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: (1) The proper quote: “Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?” It's a quote from Rose Kennedy. I'm also aware of a variant of it, also spoken by her._
> 
> _(2) This is the same thing that attacked Ron in Canon._


	25. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas and his friends get a crash course on Horcruxes; the rest of Bill's family arrives, resulting in amusing introductions; and Dumbledore gets yet another introduction to Rasalas' wrath..._

**208\. INTRODUCTIONS  
End of June – July 9, 2006**

> _“If my name were Ouch, it would pain me to introduce myself. As it is now, I only find my name mildly tortuous.”_

_\- Jarod Kintz,_ How to construct a coffin with six karate chops

* * *

Everyone at the table looked confused at Bill's look of horror.

“Enlighten us. What exactly is a Horcrux?” Arthur asked.

Bill still looked sick. “The darkest kind of magic. It involves hiding a piece of one's soul in some sort of container. That's what's in the locket Kreacher is referring to… a piece of the Dark Lord's soul.”

“Such a thing... it would be an abomination,” said Arthur, now understanding. “To corrupt one's soul in such a way. It defies the natural order of things.”

“What would that get him?” Brady wondered.

“A Horcrux will prevent its owner from actually dying,” said Bill, “The owner would exist in wraith form, a most pathetic existence, but... still attached to this world.”

“Well... Voldemort... it l-l-loosely translates to 'f-f-f-flight from death' in french,” said Ryan, “If he did s-s-something like... splitting his soul. Guess it's no real surprise.”

“Just demonstrates further just what kind of monster Voldemort truly is,” said Rasalas.

“And it makes the job much more difficult,” said Bill, “Such objects are near impossible to destroy.”

“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it. Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work... so many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open...”(1)

“It's not your fault, Kreacher,” said Rasalas, “Voldemort is a very powerful wizard.”

“According to a book titled _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , the container in which a Horcrux is placed must be, and I quote, 'destroyed beyond magical repair'.”

“Such things. This is disturbing,” said Accolon. He thought for a moment, and clearly by the look on his face, it had further unsettled him. “Mr. Weasley, tell me. Is it possible for one to create more than one... soul container?”

“Possible, yeah, I reckon. Though doing so would further divide the soul.”

Now everyone at the table looked ill.

Rasalas let out a sigh. “Would explain an awful lot now wouldn't it?”

“You think he's done it,” Bill guessed.

Rasalas nodded and frowned. “Come on, think about it. I don't remember much, but from a third-hand view... everything he's done... how he behaves.”

“If your guess is right... that makes it infinitely more difficult,” said Bill, “All of you understand, before he can be destroyed for good, all of those items will have to be destroyed first.”

“Though we now have this information, it will do very little good to dwell on it without having the power to take action,” said Lancelot.

“I would agree,” said Arthur, “Though I do think it important we determine how many Horcruxes... this Dark Lord has actually made. At least get an idea of the size of the fight ahead of us.”

“Us? Sir, although I appreciate your thoughts on the matter, your participating here could be very dangerous,” said Bill, “You do have your own fight.”

“Which is no different than the one you face here, with similar grave consequences,” Arthur argued, “If our worlds remain connected, it is only right I lend my sword to the effort.”

“I welcome it,” said Rasalas, “If Arthur and his companions wish to help... then so be it. They train with us at Avalon... and who knows? It could mean all the difference in the world.” He turned back to Kreacher. “Could you fetch the locket for me?”

“Of course.” Kreacher popped away, only to return about thirty seconds later, a locket suspended from a golden chain clutched in his hand. Almost immediately, Rasalas could hear it, whispering to him, in a language he and only one other understood: parseltongue, the language of serpents.

“We'll keep it hidden here, so it won't be stolen,” Rasalas decided, “Put it in the dresser—”

“Wait. We should put it in some sort of warded container. Even from here, I can almost taste the dark magic coming off it,” said Bill.

“Yeah. Agreed. And not a word of this leaves this room. Last thing we need is word to get out that we know about this. We really don't need the fight to be more difficult than it already is.”

* * *

_July 7_

It had taken a little bit of an effort on the part of Kate, to permit the Weasleys to visit Rasalas. Given the number of visitors, there was a little bit of red tape, but in the end, Bill collected a port key from Rasalas (he was the only person able to create a port key onto the property), and Apparated to Simcoe Crossing, where he purchased a return international port key at the owl post office.

It was the middle of the morning before Bill returned, with his parents, the twins, Ron, and Ginny. The port key was programmed to deposit them on the back patio, which by this point, had a hard-top canopy over top of it. As soon as everyone regained their feet and their bearings, Rasalas once again found himself the recipient of a bone-crunching hug, thanks to Mrs. Weasley.

“I'm so terribly sorry, Harry...” she apologized.

“Mrs. Weasley. There's nothing to be sorry for. I know who was responsible, and it's most certainly not you or your husband. Now... err... do you have things that need—”

“Oh no, that's quite all right,” Mr. Weasley answered, “We've had everything shrunken down.”

“Oh. Right,” Rasalas answered, giving a silly grin.

“Thanks for inviting us,” said Ron, as they shook hands, “Blimey, this is your house?”

“Sure is. And as I've already said to all of you a hundred times, my door will always be open to you. You guys are the family I should have had, and as an honorary son, I think I've got some latitude.”

“Thanks, Harry,” said Ginny. Rasalas could only grin, seeing her go a bit red in the face.

“Err. Right. Now. We do have room for everyone to have their own room if they like—m”

“Fred and I always share,” said George.

“And you will not be conducting your clandestine fly-by-night business while we are guests here!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, looking exasperated.

“It's quite all right. I can ward the room so they won't disturb others,” Rasalas offered, “Mrs. Weasley, we're entering some very dark times. If Fred and George can make the world laugh, then all the power to them.”

“Well...”

“I think it'll be quite all right, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley, “But boys. If you cause damage, you will be responsible for it.”

“Right. Uh... come on in. I fear we might suffer heat stroke if we stay out here much longer.”

“Yes, my word, this is incredibly warm,” Mr. Weasley noted.

“Been this way since the beginning of the month,” said Rasalas, “So cooling charms and light clothing are a must. And as you probably notice, I've already suffered a nasty sunburn.”

“Yes, that's what happens when you keep your hair so short and not wear something on your head,” said Bill, sarcastically.

“Ryan says the temperature's thirty degrees already, but the humidity's making it much worse. Good thing we've got central air.”

Mr. Weasley was about to ask exactly what he meant, until they stepped into the house. It was as if they'd stepped into a refrigerator, the cooler air washing over them.

“Merlin...” said Mr. Weasley.

“Woah... who cast the cooling charm?” asked Fred.

“It's not magic,” Rasalas answered, “There's a machine in the cellar that does it.”

Mrs. Weasley looked confused. “Non-magical? What on earth for?”

“It's how non-magical people keep their houses cool, Mrs. Weasley,” Rasalas explained, “In the winter, the same machine keeps the place warm. It's quite fascinating.”

“You must show it to me,” said Mr. Weasley.

“Oh, I will,” Rasalas smirked. He got a glare from Mrs. Weasley for his effort. “Seriously though, this'll be a little education for all of you, how a non-magical family lives. The Sawyers live across the road, and their house is still very much non-magical... though I've been helping them with a few household charms.

“My place is built with a lot of the features their house has, such as mechanical heating and cooling... and the kitchen's got electric appliances... but the cool thing... the contractor's made it so the ambient magic here won't mess with electricity.”

“But...”

“Mr. Weasley, think about it. Think of how much wizards and witches in England truly know about non-magical people.”

“Not a whole lot, really,” Mr. Weasley agreed, as they climbed the stairs up to the second floor.

“So this will be a bit of an education for all of you. I'd actually like to get you guys in to visit the Mundane Relations department at the ministry here. Their Technology Integration Division is truly fascinating, if what my solicitor tells me is true—and honestly she hasn't led me wrong yet.”

“Technology Integration?” Mr. Weasley looked immediately interested.

“Rather than sneer at non-magical technology, the Canadian wizarding world embraces it.”

“Do they have a Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office here?”

“As far as I know, no. But then again, I don't know the inner workings of the ministry here quite yet. I just know that the community here is very different than England's. Right. So Fred and George, you guys can have this room.”

Rasalas indicated a room that had a pair of double beds. It was directly opposite the top of the stairs.

“If this isn't enough room, I can apply an expansion charm.”

“No, this is perfect,” said George.

“Now. Ron. You get a room across from mine—although I tend not to sleep here all that much.”

“Why—”

“His other place, remember?” Ginny reminded them.

“Yes, my sanctuary. Once you guys get settled, we'll go in there.”

“Pretty big hallway,” said Ron.

“It's one thing I don't like all that much about Ryan's place... the corridors are claustrophobic, cramped. But their place was built in 1905, so that's what they get. Now. Err... Ginny, you get the room next to Fred and George. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, if you'll follow me... you can take the room directly above mine.”

He led them up the stairs to the third floor. It was an exact copy of the lower floor, and the east bedroom was similar to Rasalas', save for the fact it didn't have its own bathroom.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” said Mrs. Weasley, taking in the room.

“My word. This would take up three rooms back at the Burrow,” Mr. Weasley guessed.

Rasalas could only grin. “If you need anything, either Kreacher or Dobby are around, and I've asked them to listen for you. If they can't help, they'll come get me.”

“Dobby is working for you?” Mr. Weasley looked surprised.

“He bonded with me a few weeks ago. And Kreacher's renewed the elf bond. Never seen him so happy.”

“Well... Sirius never did treat him well,” said Mr. Weasley.

“I know. Though he did improve somewhat, Kreacher still didn't like having to take orders from him. It saddens me that Kreacher was somewhat pleased with his passing, but... I can't fault him.”

“How are you keeping?”

“Still saddened, still furious. Healer Theresa is a big help though, and having loads of people around who care about me and are willing to help... it makes a big difference, right? Just as much as Brady had all of us around back at the beginning of the year.

“Right. So get settled in, and come down to the parlour in a half hour or so, and I'll show you my second home.”

It was nearly an hour before the family once again gathered in the parlour. Rasalas then led them through the door into the sanctuary. For the time being, he had closed the other doors, deciding not to overwhelm his guests for now.

“Right. So come into the common room. I think Dobby and Kreacher are about ready with lunch—or dinner in your case, but we can wait in the common room.”

“Where are we, Harry?”

“Wizard space,” Rasalas answered, “This belonged to an ancestor. Bill might have tried to explain a little bit to you, but it's better to experience it first-hand.”

He closed his eyes a moment, causing the colour of the wall stones to change from a sandy-shade to a rose-shade. The couches, meanwhile, turned from a crimson shade, to a tan shade.

“Blimey!” Ron exclaimed. “How do you make it work?”

“It's by thought. I mean...” Rasalas again closed his eyes, undoing the changes he'd just made. However, a Chudley Cannons banner suddenly appeared beneath one of the Pendragon banners beside the fireplace. Ron couldn't help but grin.

“This is truly fantastic,” said Mr. Weasley, “I did hear tell of a room at Hogwarts that was able to work in such a way—”

“The Room of Requirement,” said Fred, “George and I have used it a few times... earlier in the year, when we were hiding stuff from Umbridge.”

“Then you've seen the work of my ancestor,” said Rasalas, “It was one of two very powerful magical artefacts. This one is the more advanced of the pair, while the other... was given to Rowena Ravenclaw.”

“You're related to the founders?” questioned Ron, his eyes getting wide.

“No. At least I don't think so. The sparse documentation I have on this place only states that the other was given to Ravenclaw, not inherited.”

“Oh.”

Just then, Kreacher stepped into the common room. “Lunch is being served, Master Rasalas,” he announced.

“Thank you, Kreacher.”

The elf bowed regally, before popping away. Rasalas knew he was likely going to notify Arthur and the others—they had gone to Avalon for the morning, but with the time difference, the day was nearly done. So like the Weasleys, it would be dinner rather than lunch.

“So follow me.”

“Whose banners are those?” Mr. Weasley questioned.

“Of house Pendragon.”

“As in King Arthur? Where did you get them?”

“From the source,” Rasalas grinned, as he ushered his new guests into the dining room. Mr. Weasley looked confused, as did his wife, but Rasalas didn't want to spoil the surprise. Their reaction was going to be precious, he just knew it.

“Merlin... all of this was created in the same way... just telling the artefact what you wanted it to do,” Fred guessed, as they took seats at the table.

“All of it. I mean, there are some things that the others have brought into the sanctuary, but most of this... it's just by my asking for it. The table in here is so large, because I do have some rather interesting guests, you'll be meeting very shortly. And of course you have met Brady and his family—though Mrs. Gibson doesn't like coming in here... it's a bit stressful.”

“Yes, having one's religious views upset, it would be very stressful. How is Brady coping?” Mrs. Weasley wondered.

“Well enough. Both him and his brother have taken it pretty well, all considered. Their mum prefers to stay at Ryan's place, since there's not a whole lot of magic there.”

Just then, Rasalas heard a door open and close, and moments later, Brady stepped into the dining room.

“Heard dinner's out.”

“Nearly.” Rasalas just got the words out of his mouth, when the centre of the table was filled with a number of dishes. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, and typical trimmings of a meat-and-potatoes supper. An ice chest also appeared, filled with butterbeer, regular beer, and non-magical soft-drinks. Ron reached out for one of the beer, only to receive a stinging hex.

“I don't think so, Ronald!” Mrs. Weasley scolded. 

That had Brady smirking. “Wait a few years, son.”

“Right...” Rasalas grinned, snatching a beer himself. A glass instantly appeared beside his plate.

A door could be heard opening and closing again, and this time, it was Arthur, Lancelot, Accolon, Ryan, and Aaron who joined them. Rasalas waited for everyone to be seated.

“Right. So, my old friends and surrogate family. I introduce Arthur, Lancelot, and Accolon. Guys, my surrogate family, Molly and Arthur Weasley, along with their children: Fred, George, Ginny, and Ron—I've told you loads about Ron already.”

The Weasleys all looked at Arthur and his two knights for a moment, and then it dawned on them. Mrs. Weasley promptly fainted.

“Well, my King... I knew you had a most powerful effect on people, but this... I believe this might top them all,” said Lancelot.

“Mischief managed,” Rasalas coughed, also trying to refrain from smirking. Precious indeed!

Mr. Weasley, meanwhile, produced his wand, and revived his wife.

“Merlin... my word,” she managed, still looking out of sorts. “How in the world is this possible?”

“Well... it all started back in January...” Rasalas began.

With the help of Ryan, Aaron, and Brady, Rasalas filled the Weasleys in on their connection with Arthur's time. They continued to have lunch/dinner as the story unfolded, with Arthur and his knights adding their perspective when it became appropriate.

The dishes had long since been cleared away when they finished their explanation.

“How long do you plan on maintaining the connection?” Mr. Weasley questioned, “And more importantly, is the ministry aware?”

“Possibly, though if they do, they haven't called on me about it. As to how long? I don't know. I think that's really up to the Goddess. It's her time frame, not mine,” Rasalas answered. “And before you ask, no, I don't think it would be a good idea if you guys come through.

“What I do plan on doing though, is cutting back the training schedule while you guys are here. If I'm hosting a house full of guests, it's only right I'm around at least part of the time.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“No. I think I have everything in hand. But I know Bill's got a few things organized, so I want all of you to treat this as an honest vacation. Meaning, no cooking, no cleaning, no chores. Well... I mean... maybe the cooking thing, but... absolutely no cleaning and such, unless you want to get a scolding from Dobby or Kreacher.”

That earned a chuckle from Mr. Weasley. “I think Molly might be lost with that sort of order, Harry.”

“But there will be other things you guys can do. Seriously,” said Aaron, “There's stuff we couldn't do back in the winter because of security, right... with it being relaxed a bit, and with it being nice... we've got a few places you guys will probably like.”

“And will you be joining us, your majesty?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Perhaps. Though likely not often. I don't wish to be too far out of reach,” Arthur answered, “And too much exposure might be risky.”

“As we've explained to him,” said Rasalas, “Last thing we need is for a freak accident... Goddess knows, I'm a magnet for them.”

That got a goofy grin from Ron. “Tell me about it.”

Rasalas laughed too. “Four years at Hogwarts, every one of them a train wreck in some way or other. I mean, most of my experience with the English wizarding community has been nothing but a train wreck. With very few exceptions.”

* * *

_July 9_

With the Weasleys being there, Rasalas made a point of taking all of his meals in the sanctuary. It meant lots of port key travel, but realistically, it wasn't too much of an issue. The others typically stayed at Avalon for lunch, though occasionally one or two would make the trip with Rasalas.

On this occasion, it was Brady who returned with Rasalas to the sanctuary for lunch.

“There's an owl for you, Harry,” said Ginny, pointing to the barn owl that waited in the common room. The chamber had been designed to allow post owls to come and go.

“Right.”

Rasalas collected the envelope from the owl, and the animal lifted off, finding its way to the exit point, and vanished. Rasalas, meanwhile, gave a feral grin.

“Whiskered wanker. He sent a port key.”

“Who?” Ginny asked.

“Dumbledore.” Rasalas smirked again. “He doesn't know the wards here would prevent such a thing from functioning without my permission. However, I think I might entertain the fool.” He glanced at Brady. “Care to come along?”

Brady shrugged. “Yeah. Can I shoot his ass this time?”

“Please don't.” 

Rasalas opened the envelope, and pulled the letter out.

“Put a hand on it, like I was sharing it. Great. Right, guys, we'll be back shortly. Probably an hour, depending on how long the ministry takes to 'sort it out'.”

Rasalas then projected permission for the port key to activate, and they vanished with a blur of limbs.

They landed in the outer part of a magnificent, circular office. Shelves lined the walls, as did portraits, hung higher up. A number of tables seemed to be brimming to overflowing with trinkets and knick-knacks. Brady was easily distracted by the number of things about, but Rasalas gripped his shoulder.

“Stay close.”

“Ah, Harry... and—” Dumbledore began. He was standing at the top of the short set of steps that led into the inner part of the office, and appeared surprised that Rasalas had brought someone along.

“You know,” Rasalas said evenly, “You really ought to be more careful sending a port key to someone. I could have easily brought a throng of Aurors with me instead of a close friend.”

“Now Harry—”

“It's Mr. Black to you,” Rasalas hissed, “My godfather's passing now cements that painfully clear. Your disrespect for an ancient and noble house will garner you no friends. And just to be clear, though I know who perpetrated his murder, should I discover you were somehow involved in arranging the incident, I will hold you... equally guilty.”

Dumbledore gave a pained look. He knew Rasalas was right. Ignoring styles and titles could cause problems, and quite honestly, he needed Harry's help. Further alienating and provoking him would do no good.

“Forgive me.”

“No. I don't think so. You've once again inserted your overly large nose where it doesn't belong. You sent me an illegal international port key, once again violating the laws of two magical nations. Oh, never mind the two counts of abduction.”

Rasalas glanced at Brady. “I'm sure Professor Dumbledore won't mind you borrowing his fire. Fire-call the DMLE here, ask for Amelia Bones. From what I understand, she'll help straighten this out rather quick.”

“Got it.”

“I don't give—”

“But you will,” Rasalas said, frostily, “I mean, we could just call on Fawkes, but this might be more entertaining, watching the English ministry tear itself to pieces. I'm pretty sure they don't want to end up at war with both Canada and the United States because of us, no?”

Brady looked at Dumbledore, and when the man didn't move to stop him, he knelt at the grate, and tossed a pinch of floo powder into the fire. “Ministry of Magic, DMLE,” he called out, then stuck his head in the fire.

Dumbledore watched the man for a moment.

“You've taught him well.”

“Yeah, considering you're a threat to him,” said Rasalas, “So. Why am I here? What made you decide to once again violate international laws?”

“There are a number of things we have to discuss, Mr. Black, though first I do pass on my condolences on the passing of Sirius, and I do mean that genuinely.”

“Thank you.”

“You might be wondering, why it is Voldemort has fixated on you. I think it is fair you learn of those reasons—”

Brady pulled his head back out of the fire. “Mrs. Bones is comin' through.”

He stood up just in time for the flames to roar a brilliant green, and an older witch stepped out of the fire, with two Aurors in their familiar crimson robes immediately following. Madam Bones was a broad, square-jawed witch who, to Brady, looked forbidding.

“What are you playing at, Albus?!” she thundered, “Merlin's ghost, are you truly trying to start a war?!”

“Amelia, it was—”

“Don't 'Amelia' me, Albus! This is twice now that you have meddled in Mr. Black's affairs, and twice now, that you bring unwanted international attention due to your unhealthy interest in him!”

She turned to Rasalas.

“Do you wish to press charges?”

“No. Not at this time. Though next time, count on it. This is your last warning, Professor. Stay out of my affairs, or you will regret it, I promise you. I have a rather short shit list, and you're close to being added to it.”

“Very well. If you'll come through the floo with me, we'll get you back where you belong,” said Madam Bones. 

She turned back to Dumbledore. “I expect a letter of apology penned to both the Canadian Ministry of Magic, as well as the American Department of Magic, and a magical oath that you will not attempt anything like this again.”

“And I'm tempted to demand a written magical contract that you stay out of my affairs altogether. Something like this happens again, I'll begin with that, I think,” Rasalas decided. “Thanks to this little stunt, I'm missing the afternoon's training.”

“Training? In what?” Dumbledore wondered.

“Don' think that's any of your business, old man,” said Brady, nastily.

Rasalas gave a nasty smirk. “Agreed. I think we're done here. Oh. Should you ever attempt to abduct my friend here... I'll take that very personally, as will he.”

Madam Bones activated the fire, and stepped through.

“Last warning, Professor. Mind your own business,” said Rasalas, dangerously, before he and Brady stepped into the fire themselves. The pair of Aurors followed, before the fire returned to normal.

In Madam Bones' office, Rasalas once again found her apologizing for the headmaster's actions.

“It's well in hand, Madam Bones,” said Rasalas, “Though somewhat frustrating that he persists. Either way. This is Brady Gibson. He saved my life back in September, and he's become one of my closest friends. Brady. Amelia Bones, the DMLE head here.”

As they shook hands, she asked, “You're a Muggle?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Non-magical. It's more polite, madam,” said Rasalas, looking annoyed.

“Forgive me. Old habits and all that. Now, Mr. Black, you have my sincere apology on behalf of the ministry, for our treatment of you, and of your godfather. You also have my condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“Let's see about getting you home.” 

Madam Bones pulled a tennis ball out of the pocket of her robes, and tapped it with her wand. “ _Portus_ .” 

It shimmered blue a moment, before falling still.

“I'll also send along a letter explaining the circumstances, since this will drop you at my counterpart's office in Toronto.”

She went over to her desk, pulled out a page of parchment, and quickly scribbled out a note. She then folded it, and affixed it with her seal.

“That should cover any issue they might have with the pair of you. I take it you've travelled by port key before, Mr. Gibson?”

“Many times, yeah.”

“We travel by port key to training,” Rasalas explained.

“I see. All right. Off you go. Again, you have our apologies for the headmaster's meddling. I'll see if the minister might also have a word.”

“Good luck with that. Thank you, Madam Bones.”

“Take care, Mr. Black, Mr. Gibson.”

The pair of them vanished in a blur of limbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Training, a will, and a birthday, oh my!_
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Poor Dumbledore. He never learns, no? Have to wonder, how's he gonna deal with having to address Harry as 'Sir Rasalas'? That's coming in the future._
> 
> _(1) Taken from Pg. 163, “Deathly Hallows”, Canadian soft-cover edition. Mostly verbatim._


	26. Is it Sixteen, or Twenty-One?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Training, a will, and a birthday, oh my!_

**209\. IS IT SIXTEEN, OR TWENTY-ONE?  
July, 2006**

> “ _How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?”_

  
_\- Satchel Paige_   


* * *

With the Weasleys being present, Rasalas ended up scaling back his training somewhat, so he could spend time with his old friends. It was for the most part his decision, but Viviane had all but cemented it. “Though your training here is a priority, maintaining strong ties to those who ally with you is equally important,” she had told him.

With the training being scaled back, Ryan and Aaron commonly spent a fair amount of time in the shop, as they would have done anyway during the summer. It, like Rasalas' place, was air-conditioned, so work could carry on in comfort—the summer heat was relentless, with the temperature overnight not falling below twenty degrees since the end of June.

Brady, meanwhile, had work of his own to do, now that he had most of his equipment from his residence. Rasalas had modified their room to now feature an inner studio of sorts. Brady had then tweaked it to make it more suitable for his songwriting and so on.

Even with the problems he was facing surrounding his safety, the record label was still pressuring him for new material. With his studio set up and a high-speed internet connection (the Sawyers had provided Rasalas with a signal repeater so his property was connected to their WiFi), he was then able to work with his band through a video link.

Though training was a little slower, it did not mean people were not making progress. By this point, Rasalas was using his wand less and less, being able to instead tap into the ambient magical energy around him. Being a wizard, he typically used just a small trickle of his own magic, but let the ambient magic around him do the heavy lifting. Of the group, he was perhaps the furthest ahead.

Those who were not wizards, meanwhile, had much more difficulty, since they had the additional barrier to overcome—being able to feel out the magical energy around them. Teaching them to see the world as a witch or wizard might, rather than a non-magical.

The first big breakthrough from that particular group came on July 17, when Accolon somehow managed to vanish his own clothes, to stand in the stone circle in only his birthday suit. It had resulted in a few chuckles, with Rasalas then summoning the young knight's clothes back. Another flick of his hand had him redressed.

“Well done,” Viviane praised, “Now I want you to think carefully, recall what it felt like as the magic did your bidding. It's important you recall that particular moment, for it is the key to unlocking proper control.”

“Such as the way young Rasalas is able to control his gifts.”

“Yes and no,” Rasalas answered, “Keep in mind, I do at the moment still lean slightly on my magical core for the initial... uh... kick, to get things started... but the ambient magic around me then takes over.”

“Say it like it is, Ras, you're cheatin',” said Brady.

“For now, maybe,” Rasalas grinned, “But... I still work on the exact same exercises as you guys. The whole point of the matter is not having to lean on my own magic at all.”

“So I might be a step ahead in that aspect,” Accolon guessed, to which Rasalas gave a nod.

“Yes, definitely. But keep working. It's an amazing first step, though perhaps a little embarrassing.”

Accolon blushed. “That phrases it lightly, young wizard.”

* * *

To everyone's surprise, it was Brady who had the next breakthrough, only a few days later. The fireball he managed to produce scorched his clothes and burned most of his beard; between Rasalas and Ryan, he ended up completely soaked.

“Bloody hell,” said Rasalas, as he again gave a wave of the hand, fixing his friend's clothes.

“Sweet Jesus, that was awesome,” said Brady. He felt light-headed from the incident, but could only grin madly.

“Indeed, well done, Mr. Gibson,” said Viviane. “I give you the exact same instruction I gave Accolon. Think back to exactly what you felt as the magic coursed through you.”

“Yeah, I remember that much.” He reached up a hand and rubbed the remains of his beard. “Gon' need to shave.”

“Right. Err...” Rasalas again waved his hand at Brady's face, vanishing the remnants of his scorched beard. “God, now that looks weird.”

“At least you d-d-d-didn't lose your eyebrows,” said Ryan, “And t-t-trust me, I've s-s-s-suffered that before.”

“In what way?” Lancelot questioned, as they all took a seat on conjured cushions.

“The s-s-s-steam engine. Lighting the furnace one time, I let the f-f-fuel mixture build up in the firebox, and it w-w-went boom. Burnt a bunch of m-m-my hair and my eyebrows. And of course Da gave m-me an ear full.”

“It exploded in your face,” Arthur guessed.

“Uh, s-s-slightly, yeah. More like a f-f-fireball.”

Aaron smirked. “No no, explosion's lighting the barbecue with the lid closed.”

Brady shook his head and grinned. “No, better's shootin' a propane tank with a twelve-gauge.”

Now it was Rasalas' turn to smirk. “I need to sit the pair of you down with the twins. They have a thing for explosions and pyrotechnics.”

“What might a 'twelve-gauge' be?” Arthur wondered.

Brady simply reached into his pouch, and pulled out one of his firearms.

“I ain't gon' shoot it here, might not be polite. But this's a shotgun.”

“Hurts like hell to fire it,” said Rasalas, remembering the one time he tried it. The kickback had left a nasty bruise on his shoulder.

“Takes some gettin' used to,” Brady agreed, as he stowed the weapon away.

“Perhaps now might not be an appropriate time to be discussing such things,” said Accolon, “Tell us, what did it feel like, the earth's energy coursing through your very being?”

“Awesome. It went from feet to my head an' back... an' then—uh... y'all saw what happened next.”

“This is one thing you must keep in mind,” said Viviane, “When summoned, the energy needs direction. Both of you have now experienced what will happen without such.”

“Chaos,” said Rasalas.

“Yes. Just summoning the magic around you, without clear direction of what you wish for it to do... the energy will make that choice for you, with unpredictable results.”

“Is it possible to summon the earth's energy to you, but pool it? Have it at the ready for casting in the near future?” Arthur wondered.

“As a novice to the art, no. Right now, all of you are at a stage where you are still learning to simply control it. As you gain grounding in that aspect, then you can move on to doing more complex things, such as summoning and holding.”

“And what purpose would it serve, to channel the energy, but not immediately use it?”

“The strength of a spell,” said Rasalas, “Delaying the casting, or building up the magical charge, can make a spell much stronger.”

“Keep in mind, such practice is practically unnecessary,” said Morgaine, “The magic only needs instruction. What you want it to do, and by what magnitude.”

She gestured with a hand, summoning a pile of wood, and placing it on a nearby low stone. Another gesture of the hand had it burst into flames. She then made another simple gesture, causing the fire to die down to being barely alight.

“This is all about control. Having firm grasp on what you want the magic to do.”

She gave another wave of the hand, banishing the fire and the wood.

* * *

The last week of July saw the arrival of Hermione, who finally got permission from her parents to join her friends for the remainder of the summer. Her introduction to Arthur and his knights was no less amusing, although she didn't pass out such as Mrs. Weasley. Rasalas was, however, forced to rescue the king from the young witch's barrage of questions.

July 29, meanwhile, had Kate calling at the house, with the contents of Sirius' will. She had waited until just after lunch time (local time) before visiting, to ensure Mr. Weasley would be present. Brady was also asked to be present.

“Why'd it take so long?” Brady wondered, “Ain't shit like that supposed to be read... I dunno, immediately after the funeral?”

“Similar question,” Rasalas agreed, 

Kate opened up her portfolio, and pulled out a medium-sized folder from it. “If Sirius had filed his will here, under Canadian jurisdiction, then absolutely, this would have been dealt with back in June.

“However, since the will was filed through the London branch of Gringotts, it fell under—”

“The English ministry,” Rasalas finished.

“Exactly. According to the _Decree for Justifiable Confiscation_ , the ministry has the right to seize items being bequeathed in a will, if it can be proven the items are illegal—dark or dangerous. The ministry has thirty-one days in which to prove its case, after which they are forced to release the will and its contents to the benefactors,(1)” Kate explained.

“And here?”

“The Canadian ministry does have something similar, but far less time is allotted. Our working relationship with Gringotts does expedite matters, so typically, the holding time is about forty-eight hours.”

Kate opened the folder.

“The will itself is straight forward, Rasalas. Along with becoming the new Lord Black, you inherit the bulk of the Black estate in terms of property and liquid assets, with a few exceptions.”

“I'm guessin' that's why I'm here,” said Brady.

“Yes. Quoting here, 'Mr. Gibson, you were there for my godson when I wasn't able to be, back in September of last year. You saved his life, and I can never repay you for that. In that line, I pass on to you one million galleons, and a request to continue to look after Rasalas. He will need you as much as he will need Ron, Hermione, and his old friends back in England.'”

“A million galleons—so that's... almost ten million American, right?”

“A little less,” said Kate, “But yes, it's a lot of money. Gringotts has already made the transfer into your account.”

She glanced at the document in front of her again.

“Now. Mr. Weasley. Again, quoting, 'Arthur and Molly. Dear friends who I am also indebted to, for looking after Rasalas when I was unable to. I know neither of you would ever accept any sort of charity, so consider this a debt being repaid. I leave you also one million galleons, with which you can make life just a little more comfortable.'”

“Oh Sirius...” said Mr. Weasley, “Good grief, Molly's going to have a fit!”

“And you guys aren't allowed to give it away, you have to spend it on yourselves,” Rasalas grinned.

“The funds have already been moved to your vault,” Kate explained.

She glanced again at the document.

“He's left something for Remus Lupin. Do you know him?”

“Uh... I used to. I only know him now from memories people have shared with me,” answered Rasalas.

“Sirius has left him five million galleons, with instructions to 'update your wardrobe'.”

Rasalas chuckled. “Yeah, Sirius has explained his difficulties finding employment. Ron says he was the best Dark Arts Defence professor we had back at Hogwarts.”

“Now... his next instructions... he's left a million galleons to Andromeda Tonks, and a request that she be brought back into the family. It was something he was working on at the point of his death.”

“I won't have a clue what to do.”

“I'll look into it for you.”

“Was... did anything end up being seized by the ministry?”

“No. And I'm surprised by that, considering the family's history.”

“They wouldn't be able to get into the house, Miss Lewis,” said Mr. Weasley, “Had they been able to, then yes, there would have been many seizures. Likewise, had there been a full audit of the Black vault at Gringotts.”

“'an they didn't? With the ministry's hate-on for the Blacks? Would've figured they'd dig extra deep, right?” Brady pointed out.

“Someone dropped the ball, or I have more friends I'm not aware of,” said Rasalas, “I'm not looking a gift-horse in the mouth though. I gather the instructions have been carried out already?”

“Yes. Done.”

“Then I would like for the townhouse in London to be sold. I know Sirius hated the place, and considering I don't ever plan on living in England again, I want it gone. I'll have Kreacher and Dobby pack up anything important, and I'll add a storage room in the sanctuary.”

“You want a full property evaluation?”

“Yeah, find out what it's worth... though it will likely be a bit of time since it has a Fidelius charm put on it. It'll have to be removed... maybe I need to talk to Bill about this.”

“You're considering also pulling all of your assets out of England?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Possibly.”

“I would recommend you not do so, Rasalas. Removing all that wealth, you would do irreparable harm to the English wizarding economy,” Mr. Weasley explained. “I would suggest you talk to your account manager, as he would be able to explain things in greater detail.”

Rasalas gave a feral grin. “Thank you. I'll keep that in mind.”

* * *

_July 31_

Rasalas hadn't given a whole lot of thought about his age since his encounter with the Goddess back in February. Now, though, how did he address it? By his friends from England, he was supposed to be turning sixteen. Yet, the Goddess had explained his very being had been forever changed, effectively ageing him by five or six years. The knowledge was still lacking, perhaps, but by all accounts, he was turning twenty-one, rather than sixteen.

It also brought to light another potentially awkward scenario, considering Brady slept with him, not having used his own bed since sometime in April. For him to discover that the person he was sleeping with was supposed to be a gangly teenager... that would be a train wreck, without question.

Then there was Arthur. God, that was becoming confusing. The man seemed intent on spending more and more time with Rasalas. Being somewhat older... older than Brady, even... the age disparity would be even more awkward, if downright disastrous. Another train wreck, and quite honestly, he couldn't afford to lose allies.

They could never know. It was that simple. Meaning, he had been forced to have a lengthy conversation with his old school friends, as well as Ron's parents, just to make sure they knew of his wishes. Mrs. Weasley was very much against it, and had it not been for her husband stepping in, it could have been a disaster in its own right. Of course, it had still resulted in a lengthy explanation of how he'd been aged in such a way.

No matter. Disaster averted, and as dawn finally broke, Rasalas was awakened by someone prodding his side. He slept much more soundly in the past while, with very few nightmares or odd dreams—perhaps his Occlumency shields were finally working as expected. He opened his eyes, and rubbed them. “Wha... err... good morning.”

“Happy birthday,” said Brady, “Uh... know it's early, but, I'm wantin' to take a ride. Coming?”

“On the bike, or on a broom?”

“Been a while since we've gone on my bike.”

“Wicked.”

Rasalas swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat up. With a wave from his hand, he summoned outfits for both himself and Brady. He had to grin, realizing how much alike they looked at times.

“Can... can you Apparate us outside? Don' want people knowing we's gone.”

“Yeah. Got it. Been a while since it's just been the pair of us. And knowing Ryan...”

Brady gave a nod. “Or Arthur.”

“Yeah. Him too. But... just like I can't ever say no to you... I can't say no to Arthur, either. I feel bad for him, you know. His wife being absolutely monstrous toward him. She's bordering on abusive,” said Rasalas, as he slipped his boots on. “I'm just about ready to just hex her, but that would only make Arthur angry at me.”

“He loves you, Ras.”

“I know that. And... God, you know I can't ever reciprocate. Once our training is done, we have to sever ties. It's gonna be excruciating as it is.” He flicked a finger at the wardrobe, summoning his leather jacket and vest.

“You're gon' roast in that.”

“Two words,” Rasalas smirked, “Cooling charm.” Another flick of the finger and it was done. He slipped it on.

“Do mine.”

“Uh... right.” He summoned Brady's jacket, and applied a cooling charm to it.

“Thanks.” Brady stood up.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, think so.”

Rasalas went around the bed, gripped Brady about the shoulder, and they vanished with a noisy  _crack_ .

A few minutes later, they were all but flying up Bennett Road, leaving behind a cloud of dust. If anything, Rasalas missed going out on the bike with Brady. Going off on the brooms was fun, and perhaps far more flexible, but this... going out on the motorcycle... it was Brady's thing. It was something he did long before ever meeting Rasalas. Just as flying a broom was Rasalas' thing.

They stopped for a quick bite to eat in Peterborough. They didn't buy much, suspecting that there would likely be a large breakfast put out when they got back to the house. They had chosen a little diner that had a few tables set up outside, under a canopy. Considering the heat, they were the only ones sitting outside.

“I think I'm gonna wear this from now on when I'm on the broom,” Rasalas decided, gesturing to his jacket. “With the cooling charm, I think I was more comfortable today than I have been all month in the heat.”

Brady nodded in agreement. “Yeah, usually I can't wear the jacket 'an the vest in the summer... way too hot. Would've been soaked from sweat by now.”

Rasalas gave a goofy grin. “Gotta love magic, no?”

“Yeah, all right, it's useful.” Rasalas knew Brady was only teasing.

“You're making some amazing progress. Getting the basic rubbish out of the way, it'll all come naturally. Viviane and Morgaine are amazing teachers.”

“Think I'll learn how to Apparate?”

“Likely. Though I think the mechanics will be different. I'll likely want to learn alongside of you, since Apparition is a wizarding form of transportation, while Viviane's method is Avalon-magic based. We won't be constrained by wizarding rules then.”

“You mean, not needin' a license.”

“Precisely. And I know that Viviane's method would not be prevented by wards. It would give us a leg up on traps sometimes used by Death Eaters.”

Rasalas downed the rest of his coffee.

“We should probably get back.”

Even with his suggestion, however, it was still nearly 9 am before they returned to the house. Since Rasalas still didn't have a proper place for parking, Brady once again parked the bike at Ryan's, and they simply Apparated into the sanctuary.

As expected, breakfast was out, with just about everyone present. Rasalas could only grin, getting what seemed like a dozen happy birthday wishes all at once.

“Thanks guys,” he said, taking a seat.

“So where'd you guys go this time?” Aaron wondered. He was nearly finished his breakfast.

“The usual. Up to Peterborough, then took our time coming back,” answered Rasalas, as he filled his glass with juice.

Casey clucked her tongue. “And you wore that in this heat?”

“Cooling charms, Mrs. Sawyer,” Rasalas grinned, “Think I was cooler today out in this heat than in the... I mean... yeah, I think I'll just wear this outside from now on.”

“And people will think you're gone 'round the twist, mate,” said Ron, “You're makin' me hot just sitting there.”

“Well, Ronnikins, we could throw him in the pool later,” George promised.

“Right. Good luck with that,” Rasalas smirked. “Anyway. I'll be changing as it is. I know some of you have seen the model steam engine... and I'll be running it part of the day. This might not be the best thing to be doing that in.”

He thought of something.

“And one thing to keep in mind. It's a weekday, so no magic outside at the Sawyers'. There may be non-magical people around.”

“And I can tell you, that yes most definitely, there will be non-magical people around for most of the day. A client is bringing in several pieces of machinery for repairs,” said Phil. “I'll need to step away at certain points during the day.”

“And will our presence be an issue?” Arthur questioned.

“I'll lend the three of you some clothes so you don't look out of place,” Rasalas offered.

Arthur gave Rasalas' shoulder a squeeze. “The gesture is appreciated.”

“Da, if y-you have to be in the shop, who's g-g-g-gonna look after the tractor?”

“I think there's enough of you present that it shouldn't be an issue, and I won't be gone all that far if I do need to step away. Now... uh, Mr. Weasley, why don't you come with me, and you can help get it going?”

Mrs. Weasley gave a pained look, as Mr. Weasley stood up, and kissed her on the forehead. That was then the cue for Casey to get up as well.

“Molly, you can give Betty and I a hand in the kitchen... and I may need for either Dobby or Kreacher to pick up a few groceries.”

“You know they won't have a problem with you calling on them,” said Rasalas, “And they do have blanket access to my vault, so don't worry about cost.”

“Oh. Well... that does make sense,” said Casey, quickly understanding. Bill had been the one to explain to her the basic duties of a house elf. Along with the cooking and cleaning, they also traditionally took care of keeping household necessities in stock. That would then include making a run to the store if necessary.

With both Mrs. Weasley and Casey leaving, Ryan grinned madly. “So, uh... didn't w-w-want to give you this with Ma hovering.” He reached under the table, and pulled out what was obviously a bottle, though it was wrapped. “Had n-n-no clue what to get you g-g-given how much money you have and all that shit... so happy birthday.”

Rasalas accepted the package, and unwrapped it. It was definitely a bottle, but there was no label.

“What... what is it?”

“Consider it a gift from both of us. It's through a friend of a friend,” said Aaron.

Rasalas arched an eyebrow. “Right. Now I might be concerned.”

“Newfie Screech(2),” said Ryan, smirking.

Rasalas rolled his eyes. “Y'know, between the endless feasts in Camelot's great hall, and bonfire parties here, I might draw the conclusion that the lot of you are trying to turn me into a drunk.”

“We'll sign you up for A-A meetings,” Aaron promised.

“Newfie Screech. What's the proof?” Brady wondered.

“Uh, one-fifty I think.”

“Moonshine strength.”

“What's moonshine?” Ron questioned.

“Illegally made alcohol,” said Aaron, before Brady could answer, “Screech, on the other hand... well, there's the 'official' shit the LCBO(3) sells, and then there's this stuff—” he gestured to the unlabelled bottle. “It's also illegal. So don't show Ryan's mum.”

“Or our mum either,” said Ron, “Mum still sees Harry as one of her own, right?”

Rasalas couldn't help but grin. “Yeah, something like that.”

“He's an adult,” said Brady, “No offence, but your mom needs to get it. Ras don't need shelterin' and babyin'.”

“You don't understand how or mum thinks, Mr. Gibson,” said Fred.

George rolled his eyes. “We're just turned seventeen in April, and she still hounds us about our business. She doesn't mean to but...”

“She's smotherin' ya.”

“We know, mate. Percy left soon as he could,” said George, “So did Charlie, and Bill.”

“Soon as we can purchase a shop, we'll be leaving too.”

“Reminds me,” said Rasalas, “We need to have a meeting with Kate. She'll help us with legal matters.”

“Us?”

“C'mon, guys. I'm a silent third partner, right? This is good business practice.”

“He's right, Fred.”

“Right. Thanks guys. I do look forward to tasting it.” He smirked. “Right after the giver.”

Aaron smirked right back. “Bring it on.”

Brady glanced up at the doorway into the common room, before reaching into his pouch, and pulling out a box that was a little smaller than a shoe box.

“Didn' want them two seein' me give this to you,” said Brady, as he put the box in front of Rasalas.

Rasalas opened the lid, to find a nine-millimetre Beretta inside.

“Thank you.”

“Not sure 'bout Canadian laws, but...”

“I'm not worried about that. Dumbledore will likely throw a fit if he saw it, but... he can piss off.”

“But... Harry, wizarding culture frowns on the use of Muggle firearms,” Hermione protested.

“So? They can frown on it all they want. I'll take advantage of every tool I can get my hands on. Including non-magical tactics.”

“Which then brings us to my offering,” said Arthur. “Viviane lent assistance in the packaging, but the smithy is responsible for its content.” 

He reached down under his seat, and picked up a small box from under it, then set it in front of Rasalas.

“Viviane reduced the size of the package for easier transport.”

“Oh.” Rasalas touched the box with a finger, undoing the shrinking charm, and restoring it to proper size. It was long and thin, and he immediately had a suspicion of what it might be. Opening it, his suspicion proved to be correct, as he found a shortsword within.

“Thank you.”

“You have learned well, Rasalas. It is only fitting that you now receive your own weapon. You will still need to be fitted for a proper sheath.”

“I will likely make something that can fit in my pouch, much as I will make something to hold my gun here. Better to have such things out of sight, and my pouch will not let just anyone into it. I pity the bloke who tries to break into it.”

“No doubt there, mate, knowing the goblins' opinion of thieves,” said Ron. “Right. So, uh... it's not much, but... knowing how much you fly your broom...” He collected a box from under his seat, and slid it across the table.

Rasalas opened it, to reveal a broom-servicing kit.

“Thanks, Ron.”

“What is it? Looks like shavin' stuff,” Brady commented.

“Broom servicing kit,” Rasalas answered, “Just like your bike needs maintenance sometimes, see.”

“Oh.”

“At least his gift was practical,” said Hermione, reaching beneath her seat, and picking up the box under it. She slid it across the table.

Rasalas opened it, to reveal a pack of expensive parchment, all bearing the Black family herald. Along with the parchment, there was a set of high-quality quills. Instantly, he was treated to another flash memory, of him receiving something very similar years earlier.

“Harry?”

“You've given this to me before... save for the Black family herald on it. But thank you, it's excellent.”

“My turn, then,” said Ginny, also producing a parcel from beneath her seat. Given she was further away, she passed it to Accolon, who then passed it to Lancelot, who then passed it to Arthur, before it finally arrived in front of Rasalas. He opened it, to find some magical grooming products, along with some cologne.

“Thank you.”

“Can I convince you to shave now?”

“Nope. But this will be nice for keeping it neatly trimmed. Non-magical shaving tools are messy.”

“You'll share that stuff, right?” Brady asked.

“Yup. We have an image to project,” Rasalas grinned.

“At least he's not gone for the piercings. Not sure if the wizarding world's ready for such a radical appearance, Harry,” said Hermione.

“Well... he's almost coaxed me into getting a tattoo. I like Arthur's tattoo though... so if I do, it'll probably be something like that.”

“Mum will likely have kittens,” said Ginny.

“Likely. But guys. As much as I love your mum, I am a grown man by this point. At the end of the day, she doesn't have any say in the matter. Nor does Mrs. Sawyer, or Mrs. Gibson.”

“Mom wouldn't. She knows it ain't her place. It ain't no one's place comin' into someone else's home an' actin' like they own it. That ain't right.”

Sometime later, Rasalas and Brady, along with Arthur, Lancelot, and Accolon, were in the small engine shop, helping Ryan light the Y-6-b. Rasalas' old friends had split up, with some of them joining Rasalas, while others went to see what Mr. Weasley and Phil were doing.

With the extra people, Aaron pulled Accolon and Lancelot along with him to get the passenger cars out. That left both Ron and Hermione to stick around with Rasalas, Brady, Arthur, and Ryan.

“So, uh... Ras, you m-m-mind getting steam up? I'm gonna ch-check the track and open the w-w-water tower.”

“Sure thing. These guys can help out.”

Brady was already pulling out the grease gun and the oil can from under the workbench, while Rasalas began checking the fuel and water in the tender.

“Ron, why don't you help Brady with the lubrication?” Rasalas suggested.

“Why don't you just use a lubrication charm?”

“It'd take the fun out of it,” Brady answered, before Rasalas could.

Rasalas only gave a nod, as he stuffed a wad of cloth soaked in kerosene into the firebox. “It's the practice and the process. Using magic on everything... what's the point of doing it at all? I mean, if this were full-scale in real service, then yeah, I don't think I'd want to be doing this every day.”

“The Hogwarts Express has a lot of different charms on it,” said Hermione, “Lubrication charms being one of them. But I've heard of this sort of thing back home. Miniature steam clubs all over the place.”

“Ryan says there are a few here, but nothing like back in England, or in the U.S., for that matter. Ryan mentioned a place in Oregon, I think... Train Mountain, or something like that(4). I think we have a mile of track, maybe, while that place... it's got something like ten or more.”

“I understand this does represent something much larger,” said Arthur, “How large would its real counterpart be?”

“I think, eight times larger, if I remember correctly. Ryan's thinking of taking a road trip to St. Louis so we can see the real thing. Of course that will have to wait until after the... well, you guys all know.”

He lit the kerosene-soaked rag in the firebox, then fiddled with the fuel and air, getting the fire to burn correctly, before closing the firebox door.

“You really know how to run this?” Hermione questioned.

“Mostly, yeah. There's still a number of things I don't know about the maintenance, and don't ask me if I can take it apart and put it back together again. But getting it going, and actually driving, yeah,” Rasalas answered. “Brady and I have had it out on more than a few occasions now.”

He then cranked open one of the valves, causing an increase in the amount of smoke shooting out of the chimney.

“Stack blower,” Rasalas explained, to the unasked question. “It makes the fire burn hotter. Now. It's mostly just a waiting game from this point on. Uh... Arthur, you can help me polish the brass.”

He reached into the small compartment at the back of the tender, and pulled out a can with what looked like dirty fleece of some sort.

“It takes a bit of elbow grease, but it works quite well...”

A half-hour later, the engine was eased out of the shop, with Rasalas at the throttle. Brady quickly took the back seat, and they then drove straight through the second storage building, and out to the siding where Aaron was waiting with the passenger cars. Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, were both looking at the various other pieces of equipment stored in the car house. They, along with Arthur, had followed close behind the locomotive.

“I don't know what most of it is for,” Rasalas answered, “Though I do know everything's based off of a piece of equipment that exists in the real world.”

They finally arrived at the far end of the siding, where Aaron waited with the cars. From there, it only took a minute to hook up.

“Uh, okay. So everyone grab a seat. Ryan's walked the track so we're good to go. And... common sense, keep your feet up and don't lean over. Trust me, you don't want to derail the train. It freakin' hurts.”

“We get people that lack common sense when we have a public run,” said Rasalas, “Dragging their feet, a good way to derail the train.”

“And break their foot in the process,” said Hermione, “Good grief.”

“Remember that one kid last Halloween?” Brady questioned.

“Oh yeah. Mr. Sawyer nearly went spare, booted the kid and his family off the property. Told them not to come back.”

“And what did he do to garner such a reaction?” Arthur wondered.

“Kept leanin' over, ended up derailin' two of the cars,” said Brady, “Didn't Mr. Sawyer have to fix one of 'em?”

“Took him a few hours, yeah,” said Aaron, “One of the trucks—I mean, bogeys as you Brits call them, got bent out of shape.”

With everyone seated, and Aaron taking up the conductor's seat, Rasalas started off, heading for the water tower. Steaming up usually consumed a large portion of the water supply in the tender, meaning the first stop was always to refill.

With that done, Rasalas then took them for a circuit around the rather extensive track, though he kept it relatively slow. Ryan then joined them, bringing out his camera to take pictures of the event. He then passed the camera to Aaron, and took the throttle, with Rasalas and Brady taking one of the passenger cars, as they made two more circuits.

From there, everyone had a chance at the throttle, with either Ryan or Rasalas taking the spot immediately behind on the tender, acting as instructor. That took up the rest of the day, though they had all taken a break for lunch at 12:30. Mr. Weasley, the twins, and Ginny had also had a chance to ride the train, as well as a turn at the throttle... though it had taken a bit of coaxing to get Ginny to try it.

It was going on 6 pm before Ryan at last decided to call it a day, and put the big locomotive to bed. Kreacher had informed them dinner was nearly ready, and they did need time to properly shut things down. However, with the extra hands, it took far less time than usual, and Ryan decided he would forgo sweeping the engine's tubes until tomorrow. Or maybe get Aaron to do it...

Dinner turned out to be several items cooked on the barbecue. Chicken breasts, and steaks, though there were also a few hot dogs and hamburgers, in case someone wasn't into steak. But then again, who didn't like steak? Vegetable dishes included a potato salad, a three-bean salad (which Rasalas didn't care for, but had a helping of it anyway so whoever made it wasn't insulted), and corn, which had been steamed by the steam tractor. Rasalas hadn't been paying all that much attention to how it was done, but the corn did turn out quite nice.

Then, they were once again gathered around a bonfire at Rasalas', the sun hanging low on the horizon. With it still being so warm, a number of people were enjoying the pool, though the water was more like a bath, with the incredible string of hot days seen since the beginning of the month. Ron, though, crossed the patio, and took a seat in the vacant chair beside his.

“You're not coming back to Hogwarts,” he said. It wasn't a question.

Rasalas answered it anyway. “I'll never fit there again as a student, Ron.”

“Last year wasn't the same without you, mate. A lot of us missed you. Not just Hermione... and Neville. Even Seamus... he came around after seeing the scathing comments in the paper from here.”

“It may sound selfish, but... I have to take care of myself. Being there, I would submit to Dumbledore's rules, and that will never happen. Ever. I still don't understand what his game is, but my safety and comfort are not part of it, and never will be.

“He's too busy moving people about like chess pieces, to be concerned about what they feel, what they want, what they need. 'So he suffered a little discomfort, it's no great loss'. 'So Sirius died. No great loss.' That's his attitude, Ron. He can't be trusted.”

“You have to complete your O.W.L.'s someday,” said Mr. Weasley.

“Says who? When I finish my training with Viviane and Morgaine, I'll have knowledge of magic that no professor in this age can ever teach. Add to that my personal wealth...”

“The world is your oyster, Rasalas,” said Phil, “Though I do suggest you find something to do with your time, unless you want to end up going out of your mind on the count of boredom.”

“He can come out on tour with me,” said Brady, “I'm not gon' be stuck in hiding forever.”

He picked up the bottle of beer beside his seat, and took a swig.

“Yeah. And that's the largest matter ahead of me. Getting rid of Voldemort and his band of terrorists. Face it, that's exactly what they are, nothing more. Contrary to what Dumbledore thinks, they're all beyond redemption. They've done truly monstrous things. We curse first, ask questions later.”

“But... that's no better than they are!” Hermione protested.

“And that's also a rather naive way of looking at things,” Rasalas challenged, “My view of the matter is no different than a soldier on the battlefield. We face a known, defined enemy who is waging war against innocent people, both in the magical world, and here in the non-magical world. They kill, horribly maim, rape, and torture, with no other objective, than to instill unmitigated terror into those who survive.”

“Such as the Saxons continue to do to us,” said Lancelot, “No matter what we do, more continue to find their way to our shores, all of them carrying an identical objective to your Dark Lord. Rasalas speaks only the truth... that such monsters cannot be reasoned with, cannot be pleaded with, and only respond to one thing: overwhelming, irrefutable force.”

“Only good terrorist is a dead one,” said Brady, scowling.

“Right. Enough rubbish. This has been a wicked day and I'll not have it ruined by a foolish wizard who fears death.”

“Thanatophobia,” said Hermione.

Rasalas furrowed his brows. “Than-a- _what_ ?”

“Thanatophobia. The fear of death. It's a real phobia,” Hermione explained.

That sent Rasalas into a fit of laughter.

“Oh that's too precious!” he managed. “Poor thing, perhaps he needs some time with a mind healer!”

“No if anyone needs a mind healer, it's you, Harry. Merlin, just looking at you makes me warm,” said Hermione.

“What? We're perfectly comfortable, thank you very much,” Rasalas answered in mock indignation.

“Jus' don' sleep in it,” said Brady.

“Why not?” Rasalas asked, innocently.

“Mental, that one is,” Ron stage-whispered to Hermione.

“This outfit you wear, it is required when you ride on a motorcycle,” Arthur guessed, reaching over and feeling the leather. It felt a little softer than the leather that made up his own armour.

“Protection,” Brady answered, “Fallin' off ain't a good thing, see.”

“Leather's pretty tough—I mean, I doubt anything would really protect in a serious accident, but... better than going with just a shirt. The cooling and comfort charms, meanwhile, c'mon, guys, it's magic!”

“Mental,” said Ron, again.

A large splash had everyone watching the pool, as both Ryan and Aaron bobbed back up to the surface, lips locked together.

“Good grief, they're mental,” said Hermione, shaking her head.

“They're nuts over each other. I had a suspicion from the time I got here in September, but only learned for sure back in November. I think I'll likely be attending their wedding someday. It's just a question of when, and who will propose.”

“My gut, it'll be Aaron,” said Brady.

Rasalas gave a nod. “Ryan can be brave, but... yeah, Aaron's definitely the more confident of the two.”

“The blame is not his, Rasalas,” said Arthur, “To at times have trouble speaking, it does not instill an image of confidence.”

“A spot-on assessment, Arthur,” Casey agreed, “Though being around you lot has most certainly helped.”

“Arthur, do you not plan to join us?” Accolon called. He and Lancelot were both in the pool, one of them floating on an inflated inner-tube. Aaron and Ryan, meanwhile, were sitting up to their necks toward the shallow end, content to be in each others' arms.

The occasional splash came as Fred, George, and Ginny, respectively, were still using the diving board. Rasalas could only grin, seeing his surrogate family relaxing and having fun. Their parents had commandeered a lounge chair, and transfigured it so they both would fit on it, and then rested comfortably in each others' arms.

“Perhaps, if we can convince the man of the hour to also join us,” said Arthur.

“Uh, I'm quite comfortable where I am, thanks,” Rasalas answered.

“Aw, come on, Harry, you're being no fun!” George called.

“We could help him into the pool,” Fred suggested.

“And should you get me wet, you'll find yourselves painfully hexed,” Rasalas promised.

The hour grew later, and it was once again no surprise, when Brady produced his guitar. For now, he kept from actually singing anything, more content to just pluck out a tune or three.

“I've become spoiled,” Rasalas grinned.

“Why's that?” Brady asked.

“I've had a famous musician to myself for almost a year. Not too many people can say that, right? I mean, other than if... uh... well...”

Rasalas felt his face get hot, and thanked the Goddess the shadows were heavy enough for it not to be noticed.

“Don' get a big head.”

“That won't ever happen,” said Rasalas, “I look at all of you... everyone in my life right now... as a gift. Something I will treasure always. Even when it does come time for us to part ways.”

Ryan and Aaron finally climbed out of the pool, the water cascading from their soaked clothes.

“You guys look absolutely nuts, y'know,” Rasalas grinned.

“You'd look even better.”

“I'll hex the first person who tries,” Rasalas again promised, “This was a gift, I won't have it ruined.”

“Says the one who didn't give a shit throwin' me in the water... never mind it bein' salt water,” said Brady. “Pool water ain't gon' ruin it.”

“Seriously though. I'm not in the mood for swimming. It's been a wicked day and I'm just happy to sit here.”

He thought for a moment, then gave a smirk.

“Tell you what, though. Tomorrow or whatever, I'll do a back flip off the diving board and the pair of you can film it and put it on _YouTube_ or whatever it is.”

Both Aaron and Ryan grinned madly.

“What's it about gettin' wet in your clothes anyway?” Brady wanted to know, as he continued to pluck out a slow melody on his guitar.

“Feels nice,” Ryan answered.

“C'mon, 'Ry, it's more than that,” Aaron smirked.

“Good grief boy!” Casey scolded him, “Don't tell me you've been—”

“No, we'll do that later, Ma,” Ryan grinned. “Ras p-p-probably wouldn't like it if we did... th-th-that in his pool.”

“No sex please, we're British,” said Rasalas, though he grinned madly.

“Ryan L. Sawyer!” Casey yelled.

“I don't think we can really scold them, dear,” said Phil, “Just as long as they don't do it in public.”

Casey let out an exasperated sigh. “Good grief, boy.”

“C'mon, Mrs. Sawyer, we do know discretion,” said Aaron. Both he and Ryan had claimed another double seat, not bothering to dry off. Even with the night air, there was little relief from the oppressive heat. Perhaps, being soaked was a good thing. Or in Rasalas and Brady's case, wearing an outfit with a strong cooling charm on it.

It had been a fantastic day all in all. Close friends at his side, a few really cool gifts, good food... yes, it had been a great twenty-sixteenth birthday. He had to wonder, then, what would his twenty-seventeenth be like?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Viviane introduces Rasalas to a new kind of skill that might prove useful in the future; Rasalas introduces the twins to Kate, and they discuss plans for the joke shop; a morning flight around Camelot has Gwenhwyfar lashing out at both Rasalas and Arthur; and after Brady shares a new song, Arthur comes to a heart-breaking realization..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Having a little play on words there with 'twenty-sixteenth', given the age disparity between his rather permanent disguise, and his true age._
> 
> _Apologies for the chapter length, Rasalas' birthday seemed to drag on a bit. There were a few other things I'd wanted to use, but I decided to save them for another day in the future._
> 
> _(1) As referenced on Page 105, “Deathly Hallows”, Canadian soft-cover edition._
> 
> _(2) As Aaron describes, it's a rather potent home-brewed alcoholic spirit from Newfoundland. There is an 'official' brand, which is commercially available, but it's not quite the same as the home-brewed concoction, and nowhere near as strong._
> 
> _(3) LCBO – Liquor Control Board of Ontario. In Ontario, the only places someone can legally purchase alcohol products is through their stores. The Beer Store, likewise, is responsible for selling most beer products. There is a movement to allow regular stores to sell alcohol, but thus far, there is much opposition to allowing that to happen._
> 
> _(4) In 2004, this miniature hobbyist railroad held the Guinness World Record, for being the longest, with nearly 13 1/4 miles of mainline track. It's in Chiloquin, Oregon._


	27. The Writing on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Viviane introduces Rasalas to a new kind of skill that might prove useful in the future; Rasalas introduces the twins to Kate, and they discuss plans for the joke shop; a morning flight around Camelot has Gwenhwyfar lashing out at both Rasalas and Arthur; and after Brady shares a new song, Arthur comes to a heart-breaking realization..._

**210\. THE WRITING ON THE WALL  
August, 2006**

> “ _Some people think that the truth can be hidden with a little cover-up and decoration. But as time goes by, what is true is revealed, and what is fake fades away.”_

  
_\- Ismail Haniyeh_   


* * *

The beginning of August brought no reprieve from the oppressive heat that had been locked in place since the beginning of July. The Sawyers' lawns were dusty and brown, and the hay growing in the fields around looked wilted and brown in its own right, quite literally dying from the lack of rain.

Still, things carried on, with Rasalas having at least a few hours of training every day. He found himself needing his wand less and less, as the magic came to him far easier than ever. Most spells he'd learned in his first three years of school now took almost no effort whatsoever, with a few exceptions. And in some cases, very little hand movement was even needed! He actually practised a few spells, knowing how very useful it could be, to be able to cast something with no motion or no verbal command.

He could by this point escape from being bound—whether it be by ropes, conjured or not, or from a full body bind. He still found trouble with the petrifying hex, taking a little longer to escape from it, but he continued to work on it.

Viviane, meanwhile, knowing of his strong grasp of a well-organized mind, then began to teach him about spiritual projection.

“You are able to move from place to place by magic... Apparition, as you call it,” she began.

“Yeah, that's right,” said Rasalas. The large group was once again gathered at the stone circle. While Morgaine worked with the others, Viviane worked one-on-one with Rasalas.

“Spiritual projection works in a similar manner, though drawing from the ambient energy around you, rather than relying on your own magic. Perhaps the most important difference, however, is in how it can work. Your method of travel... you are only able to completely project yourself to a new location, am I correct?”

“Yes. I mean, as far as I know.”

“Spiritual-projection, meanwhile, can be a complete projection, working exactly as Apparition. Yet, it is also possible for one to do this. Watch by the arch way and the path leading down to quarters.”

Viviane seemed to concentrate a moment, before a ghostly shade appeared in the stone archway, an exact image of herself. She only held it in place for a few moments, before it vanished.

“Wicked...”

“The only caveat with doing such a thing, is that your focus will be completely on the projection, rather than on the body you are leaving behind.”

“Leaving me vulnerable.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Viviane. “Realize, being able to do this requires a great amount of mental focus. I do not promise you will be able to do it.”

“I would like to try.”

“Very well. Then let us begin with a few exercises...”

* * *

_August 7_

Mid-morning local time, Kate arrived by floo powder. Rasalas quickly located the twins, and the four of them then retreated into the study. The study had been designed based largely on the drawing room back at the townhouse in London. It had been mostly designed by Sirius, knowing there would be meetings very similar to this one.

“Mr. and Mr. Weasley. I'd like to know a little more about your business plan.”

“You heard of Zonko's?”

Kate gave a nod. “They have a store in Simcoe Crossing.”

“They also have a shop in Hogsmeade,” said Fred.

“It's where our inspiration came from,” George added.

“I see. And Rasalas has provided an initial investment,” Kate guessed.

“Yeah, his winnings from the Triwizard tournament.”

“Was threatening to dump it down a sewer grate unless we took it,” said Fred.

“Mental.”

“Totally.”

“Who throws—”

“Guys...” said Rasalas, though he grinned. The twins were good at creating chaos just by opening their mouths.

“What is the extent of your business so far?”

“All of it is through owl-order right now,” said George.

“But we're looking to buy a storefront,” said Fred.

“And that's where I come in,” said Rasalas, “I suggested they look into purchasing a store here... or I mean, in Simcoe Crossing, rather than in Diagon Alley. It would be a lot safer, I'm sure Mrs. Weasley would have a bit more peace of mind, knowing they were thousands of miles away from the chaos threatening to unfold in England.”

“Well, that's very much do-able,” said Kate, “I'll have to speak with a colleague, since I don't deal in real-estate personally. Now I would suspect you would plan on wanting a place to live as well?”

“If we can get a place with a flat above, it would be perfect,” said George.

“As an investor, I'm offering to take care of the purchase. As I said to these guys already, in the looming dark times ahead, people need to laugh... and Fred and George are good at making people laugh.”

“All right. So there's no concern about cost,” said Kate.

“Harry—Rasalas...”

“We don't need anything extravagant,” George finished.

“But I want you guys to have the best... the flashiest, grandest store you can find. Make a bang, guys. Our world needs it. Besides, as a third partner, I do have a say, no?”

“All right. Fine.”

“We surrender,” said Fred, “You drive a hard bargain, Harrykins.”

Rasalas stuck his tongue out at them.

The remainder of the morning was spent laying out a more proper business plan. Kate would be their personal connection to the firm, but it was more than likely another solicitor would actually deal with the file, since business law wasn't Kate's strong area.

* * *

The next few days saw increased activity at the Sawyers' property, as preparations were under way for the Labour Day weekend event. Fencing was arriving, as had a large tent, which would take a couple of weeks to put in place. On the advice of several promoters, there would be an after-show party on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, put on for V.I.P. guests. The stage, meanwhile, still hadn't arrived, and wouldn't until a bit later in the month.

Such activity also began to pull both Ryan and Aaron away, as Mr. Sawyer did need help with matters. Rasalas was tempted to put training on hold for the remainder of the month, given the amount of preparation which was required for the event. It was easy to remember the work that had been required even with the short notice the previous fall.

Phil was touched by the offer, but declined.

“No, Mr. Black, your training should take priority, no matter what might be happening here,” he'd answered.

The early part of the month had seen the development of another ritual, with it being so hot back at the Sawyers'. Rasalas and his fellow students of Avalon would take a broom ride, usually around Camelot, early in the morning. Sometimes, they flew in Brady's created space inside the sanctuary, and in that case, Rasalas' school friends were able to join them. But flights at Camelot were kept to only Rasalas and his fellow students.

On the morning of August 10 th , then, Rasalas and his friends had taken an early morning flight about the castle, with Brady, Ryan and  Aaron following. The sunrise had been amazing from that particular vantage point. Seeing it was time for breakfast, the pair made for the courtyard, and the massive doors that led into the great hall.

Since the guards at station already knew who it was, they simply pulled the doors open, allowing the pair of brooms to fly directly into the room. It was only then they set down and dismounted, much to the surprised looks from those already at breakfast.

“Thank you for flying _Air Black_ ,” Aaron smirked, while Ryan shouldered the broom. Brady touched down a moment after, but held his broom upright, the bristles barely touching the floor.

Rasalas was doing the same, though Arthur had put his arm around Rasalas' shoulder. The young wizard grinned madly, as the pair circled the table to Arthur's typical spot. The momentary unease at the group's unusual arrival had evolved into grins and chuckles from the knights.

“A most amusing way to make an entrance, sire,” said Cai.

“I do not deny that it was entertaining—“

The slap came out of left field, and as Arthur was shocked by it, Rasalas, too, found himself slapped, and ended up dropping the broom.

“Conniving little bastard!” Gwenhwyfar hissed, hand raised, “You not only corrupt my husband with your wicked sorcery and potions, you conspire to steal him from my arms! Curse you! Curse you all!”

“But, my queen...” Arthur began, but Gwenhwyfar spit in his face.

She suddenly found herself bound from the neck down. Arthur looked crushed, seeming to think a moment, the gob of saliva sliding down his cheek. He huffed, coming to a decision. Rasalas could tell it was tearing at him.

“I have been patient, Gwen. I have truly tried to understand. But your hate has consumed you to the point where I must take steps to protect my companions.”

Arthur glanced at Gawain.

“See her to her chamber. She is not to be allowed out of it for the immediate term.”

“At once, sire.” 

Only then, as Gawain and another knight removed Gwenhwyfar from the great hall, did Arthur wipe the spit from his face. He sat down in his mini-throne, once again looking crushed.

“I'll speak to Theresa, see if there's something a little more potent than a calming draught,” said Rasalas.

“W-w-we... I'll p-put the b-b-brooms away,” Ryan offered.

“Thanks.” 

“D'ya mind takin' care of mine?” Brady asked. He'd been stunned speechless by the queen's behaviour.

“Yeah, of c-c-course.” Ryan took both Rasalas and Brady's brooms, and he and Aaron then left the room by a passage leading to the royal bedchamber. Silence seemed to fall over the hall, until the pair returned.

“That was a train wreck,” said Aaron, taking a seat, “Wow... right out of left field.”

“Face still stings where she nailed me,” said Rasalas, shaking his head.

“Th-th-thing is, just locking her up ain't g-g-gonna fix it.”

“Better than her lashing out and harming herself, or others,” said Arthur, “Know that I still care for Gwen, and I always will.”

“Of course,” said Rasalas, “No matter what, she will always be your first love.”

Arthur gave a slow nod, as he began to fill his plate. It wasn't true, of course, but, he knew the truth was scarier than the deception. Should the truth ever come out... he knew he would be destroyed. The kingdom would likely come apart from such a revelation.

In the end, Arthur ate very little.

“My young friends... I will not be attending training today.”

“I'll stay with you,” Rasalas offered.

“No, you must—”

“Arthur, you need a shoulder to lean on, let it be mine. Let's go to Avalon anyway, even if you don't participate. The magical isle is good for your soul... it was good for mine when my world was turned upside down back in June.”

Arthur gave a slow nod. It was becoming easier and easier for him to give in to Rasalas' suggestions. The young wizard wielded immense power, such was demonstrated on almost a daily basis in the stone circle. It were as if the king were drawn to him, pushed by an unseen hand. Part of him wanted to protest at such a notion, but... everything else inside, told him it was the only choice, the  _better_ choice.

Problem was, he realized, Rasalas' heart belonged to another. He'd realized it rather quickly after their first meeting. Brady and Rasalas completed each other. Did he really have a chance against such a bond? More importantly, making any such overtures toward Rasalas wouldn't result in an heir to Arthur's throne. No, he needed Gwenhwyfar to do that. His heart ached at the complications staring him in the face. Neither option would be easy. He knew that for certain.

The day was once again wasted, with both Rasalas and Brady keeping Arthur company. Ryan and Aaron headed back to the house to help Phil, while Accolon and Lancelot remained at the castle.

Just the three of them, then, spent part of the day on the lawn of Avalon, but as it neared dinner time, Arthur asked to return to the sanctuary. There, he ate very little, still bothered by the incident that morning. The others at the table, having lunch, easily picked up on his glum mood.

“Did something happen, sir?” Ginny questioned.

“My queen and I are having a difference of opinion,” Arthur answered, sadly.

“Which means none of you are to badger him about it!” Mrs. Weasley scolded.

“We have it in hand, Mrs. Weasley,” said Rasalas, “With it getting on to dinner time back at Camelot... Arthur wasn't up to dealing with the noisy great hall.”

“I would seek further solitude for the remainder of the night.”

“Come into my place then,” Brady suggested, “Ain't near as hot, an' I'm gon' work on some shit.”

“Another song,” Rasalas guessed.

“An idea, yeah. I mean, got part of it wrote already.”

“A work-in-progress, then.”

There came a pop, and Dobby appeared beside Rasalas' seat. “Master Razzy, there is mail for you.” He placed the envelope on the table beside Rasalas' plate.

“Thank you.”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically, then popped away.

“He's calmed down loads, Harry,” said Ron.

“I think bonding with him was a good thing. Yeah, I remember a few of the memories you guys shared with me.”

“But...”

“Hermione, we've been over this already. I want to see them happy. If it means they're loaded with work to do, then so be it. Please, have respect for their wishes and their culture.”

Hermione huffed, but turned back to her lunch. Rasalas, meanwhile, turned his attention on the letter beside his plate. Ah, the monthly statement, he realized. He opened it, and glanced at the contents, before setting it aside.

“Nothing of worry, then?” Arthur asked.

“What? Oh, yeah, nothing to worry about. My monthly statement from Gringotts,” Rasalas answered.

“Forgive me, did not mean to pry into personal matters.”

“I take no offence. There are some, however, that I most certainly would take offence should they stick their overly-large nose where it doesn't belong.”

“Dumbledore,” said Brady.

“Got it in one. Though he's behaving himself as of late. Guess he _does_ know something about lines and when not to cross them. Doesn't matter though. He's still on my shit list.”

Once they were finished with lunch/dinner, Brady, Rasalas, and Arthur stepped into the room Brady had created. Rasalas noticed at once, there had been more changes made to what was obviously his house.

“I won't be bothered if you want to stay in here rather in my room,” said Rasalas, as they stepped outside onto the verandah.

“I prob'ly will eventually,” said Brady. “Never said thank you for back in the winter.”

“A favour returned, Brady. And something I would do over if required. You're my best friend.”

“Shame you ain't a girl, Ras.”

“Well, with the right spells—”

“Fuck off,” Brady scowled, “It'd still be wrong.”

“This is also true,” Rasalas agreed, “I mean, I think there is a way for someone to change their sex... but... you already know me and all that.”

“Such a thing, why would someone wish to go through with such a process?” Arthur wondered.

“I dunno,” Rasalas answered, with a shrug, “Not being happy with who they were born as? Really, I haven't any clue. Personally, I was born a guy, and I'm happy being a guy, thank you very much.

“As to who I might fall in love with? Who knows. Know that I love the both of you dearly, just as I love Ron and Hermione.”

“Who you attracted to?” Brady asked.

“Honestly, I don't know. I guess I won't know until it's there in front of me. Know what I mean?”

“I guess so.”

“There is someone out there for you, Rasalas,” said Arthur. Rasalas, though, caught the pained look that crossed his face.

The three of them took seats in comfortable chairs. Rasalas could only grin as a table appeared beside Brady's chair, set at just the right height. Brady had easily taken to the idea of having the room create things on the fly.

“And what shall you be doing, Rasalas?” Arthur asked.

“Absolutely nothing. And you are to do the same. Just relax. Relax your mind, calm your thoughts,” Rasalas answered. He then got an idea.

“Actually. Let me see if I have... yes.” He'd reached into his pouch, and pulled out a small vial. “Drink this. It's a mind-calming draught. Then we're gonna do some exercises.”

“Our mind exercises?” Brady asked.

“Yes. I mean, they helped you loads, right?” At Brady's nod, Rasalas continued, “Being able to calm the mind is a massive tactical advantage. It also helps you to make sense of something when it happens, to better-retain information when it is given to you. So care to give it a go?”

“Yes. This does sound like a useful skill,” Arthur agreed.

Sometime later, Arthur lay sound asleep, his head then resting on Rasalas' shoulder. Rasalas, too, was barely awake, content to listen to Brady, as he worked on his music. He'd collected a notebook computer from inside, and since the internet worked in the sanctuary, he had spent an hour speaking with his band back in Georgia.

“Ras?”

“Huh?”

“D'ya want a beer?”

“I... oh. Yeah, sure.”

Rasalas hadn't noticed the ice chest that had arrived, with a number of bottles resting in it. Brady plucked two bottles out of it, and passed one over. Rasalas flicked a finger at the cap, vanishing it, before taking a swig.

“Been needin' the quiet,” Brady admitted, “Your place, it gets crazy too much.”

“I don't mean for it. But yeah, I agree. I mean, I'm guessing a bit of excitement sometimes does help with the writing, but... too much—”

Brady gave a nod. “Sometimes I need some quiet.”

“Ron and most of his family will be going back to England on the long weekend. School starts day after Labour Day and all that, so they need to be back Saturday evening. Though I'll miss Ron and Hermione, there won't be as many people around. Then we can get back to full-day training.”

“Not meanin' to drive your friends—”

“I think Mrs. Weasley misses the Burrow,” Rasalas interrupted, “In her place, I think I would miss home, too. Just like you miss being home, right?”

“You got no idea.”

“And I wish I had an answer for when you can go home, but honestly... I won't go after Voldemort until I'm sure I can actually beat him for good. It could be years.”

“I know. 'an thing is, I'll be right behind 'ya. Who said it was just your fight?”

“No one.”

Arthur let out a snort, and shifted slightly, but did not wake.

“'an there's someone else who's got your back, Ras. Don' forget that.”

“I know. I care for him you know.”

“No shit.”

“Thing is I can't... get involved, right? This thing between him and his wife, it's driving me nuts. Gwenhwyfar is too blind to see what she's doing to him—that crap this morning, I wanted to strangle her. A small piece of him died right there on the spot. I saw it in his eyes.”

Rasalas let out a sigh. “But it's not my place to really do anything. The universe won't allow it. It makes it even more difficult knowing she doesn't deserve him. You know the bishop foisted her upon him in the name of diminishing the strength of Avalon at Camelot.”

“She did leave 'im in the end.”

“Yeah. After she learned... you-know-what. That's years away,” Rasalas muttered.

Arthur again shifted in his sleep, reaching up to scratch at his neck.

Rasalas let out a huff. “Guess no matter what, I'll end up involved. Even now... the mess of this morning, and he turned to us. And honestly, they haven't slept together since we got here in May.”

“Didn' he have a thing with Lancelot?”

“He wants our help. For whatever reason... and honestly, I'm not going to turn my back on him... just like I didn't turn my back on you.”

Brady snorted. “'an we know where that led.”

“I would then draw the conclusion that you don't like sharing a bed with me, Mr. Gibson.”

That earned him a swat for his effort, which Rasalas swiftly returned. The jarring movement had Arthur muttering something incoherent, and lifting his head, to look at them with bleary eyes.

“Err... good nap?” Rasalas questioned.

“Wha... somewhat. What mischief have I awakened to?”

“Oh. No mischief. Brady and I were only having a small disagreement about something.”

“I see.” Arthur glanced at the ice chest, then leaned forward and snatched up a bottle of beer. He struggled with the cap a moment, but finally wrestled it off, and took a drink.

“How goes the writing, Mr. Gibson?”

“Progressin'.”

“Then play something for us.”

“Uh... all right. This here's somethin' new, so's still needin' some cleanin' up, shit like that. But it's done an' all.”

He picked up his guitar from the stand beside his chair, got comfortable, and began to play:

  
  


_There's no suitcase by your front door_  
 _There's no note sayin' goodbye_  
 _Ain't no motor out there runnin'_  
 _Idling in the drive_  
 _You don't have to keep on lookin'_  
 _For some proof you're losin' me_  
 _You don't have to keep on waitin'_  
 _Afraid I'm gonna leave_  


_I'm not goin'_  
 _I'm not goin' anywhere_  
 _We both know it_  
 _Girl, I'm already there_  
 _It's been over_  
 _I don't know why you're holdin' on_  
 _I'm not goin', I'm not goin', I'm not goin'_  
 _I'm gone(1)_

  
  


When he finished, Rasalas looked over to find Arthur was actually crying. Brady, too, noticed.

“I... I'm sorry... didn' mean—”

“Your words... speak to my thoughts, friend,” said Arthur, sadly. “They speak of action I fear of doing.”

“If you ain't happy...”

“I cannot. I will not abandon my queen,” said Arthur, a little more firmly. He rubbed his face with his hands, and said, “I have made vows.”

“Which she is all but denouncing, Arthur,” said Rasalas, “It's her fault, not yours, that your relationship is coming apart. There is a point where you have to look after yourself.”

Arthur gave Rasalas and Brady a deer-in-the-headlights look, then burst into tears for a second time. Though he had tried to dismiss it up to this point, both the words in Brady's song, and the words spoken by the young wizard were the writing on the wall: his marriage to Gwen was over, in all but official word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: A morning flight to England's south coast results in an unwanted encounter, and the aftermath has Rasalas and Brady witnessing Arthur meting out Medieval justice; and all of this leaves Rasalas questioning the path he is on..._
> 
>  
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: (1) “I'm Gone”appears on the album “Just As I Am”. Writers: Brantley Gilbert, Wendall Mobley, and Tony Martin. Released by The Valory Music Co. LLC. All rights Reserved, (C) 2014._


	28. New Titles, New Burdens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _SUMMARY: A morning flight to England's south coast results in an unwanted encounter, and the aftermath has Rasalas and Brady witnessing Arthur meting out Medieval justice; the month finishes with Rasalas saying something he immediately regrets, and complications then arise with the sanctuary..._   
> _WARNING: Graphic violence._

**211\. NEW TITLES, NEW BURDENS  
August, 2006**

> “ _Knighthood lies above eternity; it doesn’t live off fame, but rather deeds.”_

  
_\- Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun_   


* * *

Rasalas woke early the following morning, not surprised to find himself pinned in between Brady and Arthur. The chairs they had been using had been changed into a large bed, and a blanket had been thrown over them. If Rasalas had to guess, it was likely Kreacher, or Dobby. Dobby, more likely.

As much as he was trying to resist, it seemed like everything conspired to push Rasalas and Arthur together. How many times now, had they all shared a bed? Sure, nothing went on other than sleep, and yet... the feeling he got while beside the young king... it was undeniable.

No matter what, Arthur needed him at this point. If he wanted Rasalas' company... then so be it. Rasalas realized that really, there didn't seem to be much choice in the matter. He'd been over this argument in his head what seemed like a thousand times already, still coming up with no answer. What would they both do, when it came time to part ways?

He blew out a breath, then reached out with both hands, touching his sleeping companions. “Guys. Need to get up.”

“What... what time is it?” Brady muttered.

“Late. We won't make it to training today,” said Rasalas. The sun was up, and he guessed it had to be either 8 or 9 o'clock. He held up a finger. “ _Tempus_.”

'9:08 a' wafted from the end of it.

“I would go flying, if you will permit,” said Arthur.

“Here?”

“No. I would have us fly to the coast and back.”

Flying to England's southern coast and back was nothing new; they had flown that way at least twice thus far. On fast brooms, it didn't take all that long, a few hours at most.

“All right, I'm game. Though I think we need to find either Lancelot or Accolon,” said Rasalas, “I don't think we quite cut it as sufficient protection detail.”

“Let us have food and drink, before departing. And yes, I would have at least one other join us,” said Arthur.

* * *

Hours later, they had reached the coast, in what would become modern-day Bournemouth. There and then, it was a very small settlement, with only a few primitive buildings and—

_THWACK_ . Rasalas hissed, feeling the arrow pierce his shoulder. That had everyone trying to figure out where it had came from.

“There!” Accolon pointed to the thicket of trees below.

Now Brady was forced to duck, an arrow narrowly missing his head, as the ground below came alive with Saxon invaders.

“Shit! Shit shit shit!” Rasalas cursed, feeling something hit the back of his broom. It quite literally bucked, nearly throwing both Rasalas and Arthur off.

“Ras!”

“Need options guys! They did something to my broom!”

Whatever they'd done, it was interfering with the flight charm. They were losing altitude, and rather quickly. Far worse, it appeared there was at least one magical enemy.

Brady, meanwhile, was rifling around in his pouch, while keeping one hand on the broom. He pulled out something that was round, about the size of a fist.

“Accolon, grab the broom for me.”

“Of course.”

Accolon reached around and got hold of the broom, while Brady did something with the object, then dropped it. Not paying too much attention to where it landed, he reached into his pouch—

_BOOOOM_ .

Rasalas, who'd been looking for a safe place to set down, watched the ground quite literally erupt in a spray of dirt and busted tree limbs.

“What the bloody hell—”

“Grenades. Look out.” He dropped a second one, resulting in an identical blast. Arthur glanced around. The Saxons had beat a retreat from the two explosions, leaving a small area open.

“Set us down, Rasalas.”

“I see it.”

Moments later, they were on the ground, the smoke from the explosions providing brief cover.

“Port key. Now,” said Brady.

“No. I feel it. You guys should too. Anti-port key ward. There's a magical enemy here,” Rasalas answered. He finally took the time to vanish the arrow that had pierced his shoulder, and cast a healing charm. He'd need Theresa to have a better look at it later, but now was not the time to worry about such things.

“Then we fight,” said Arthur.

“Ras. It possible to make a port key here?” asked Brady.

“Yeah. Just not one going out.”

“Do it. 'an summon Dobby. Send 'im back to Camelot.”

“Make the port key, one large enough to support many hands,” said Arthur, “Dobby!”

_Pop_ . “Arthur sir called Dobby, and Dobby comes!”

“Little friend, we need your help,” said Arthur, as Rasalas quickly made a port key to their location, “Return to Camelot, and its great hall. Inform my companions their king has need of them at once.”

Rasalas passed over a medium-sized tree branch. Dobby took it, and popped away. Brady, meanwhile, retrieved his shotgun and a box of shells from his pouch.

“How long we got?”

“A minute, maybe less,” said Accolon. They could hear footsteps crunching in the woods all around them.

“Any idea on numbers?” Rasalas asked.

“A hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty,” said Arthur, “Too many for only four of us.”

“The magical ones... they're close,” said Rasalas, “All of you need to be careful—”

Rasalas quite literally dragged Arthur to the ground, as a green bolt of magic whizzed overhead, in exactly the spot where Arthur's head had been a second earlier.

“What... what was that?!”

“Killing curse! Keep down!” Rasalas shouted, drawing his wand. 

He'd seen where the spell had came from, and so unleashed a blasting curse in that direction. He was rewarded by the sound of splintering wood, a number of shouts and cries. The spell had gone through several trees on its trajectory, sending splinters into a few more enemies, before slamming into its intended target. If anything, the spell had packed much more punch than Rasalas could remember.

Unfortunately, the magicals answered right back, with a storm of red magic of their own, forcing Rasalas to erect a strong shield. That seemed to coincide with a surge of enemies that finally garnered the courage to actually attack.

_BOOM_ . Brady's shotgun made quick work of the first Saxon to get too close, sending most of them back, with them never seeing such a weapon before. Future technology or not, it was a deadly fight. It was go big or end up dead.

The Saxons were then shouting to each other in a language that sounded German, if Rasalas had to guess. Or perhaps, an ancient version of it. Rasalas made a note to find out if there was such a thing as a translation charm—such a thing would have been useful here.

_BOOM_ . The shotgun blast had turned the victim's face into hamburger; he dropped like a sack of stones. Accolon swiftly ended the man for good, pressing his blade through his heart.

He was then forced to defend himself as another Saxon had stormed in to take the place of the fallen—

A blur of limbs nearby heralded the arrival of Arthur's knights. The Saxons were all startled by such an arrival, and that gave the companions the time they needed to get oriented, and swiftly join the fight. Lancelot quickly found Arthur.

“What happened, sir?”

“Ambushed while in flight. Rasalas, search out the magicals.”

“Sir,” said Rasalas. He turned to Brady. “Help look after Arthur.”

Rasalas then reached into his pouch, and produced his invisibility cloak. He'd not used it much since... well, he didn't remember the last time he'd used it prior to September, other than the demonstration he'd given the Sawyers. No matter, it was imperative he was invisible. He then cast a silencing charm on his feet, and set out, tracking the magical enemies.

His damaged broom was a frustration. It would have been much quicker had it been flyable—there. He could see a group of about five people, gathered in a small circle. Two of them were magical, if his sense was right. He could still hear the sounds of battle behind him, occasionally punctuated by Brady's shotgun—that had been rather shocking.

That was neither here nor there... he focused on what he was about to do. There would be no second chance, as he neared the group. Ah. A ward stone. That would have to be destroyed in order to dispel the anti-port key ward.

He circled around them, identifying the two wizards. They would need to be eliminated first, then to worry about the three others. He closed in to the point where he could almost touch one of them, before reaching a hand outside of his cloak.

The blasting curse he cast quite literally sent the wizard flying, as it tore through his lower back—it had most likely blown a hole right through his midsection, taking vital organs with it. No time to think about it, he reached out a hand—and found himself hurled backward against a nearby tree.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ” the remaining wizard shrieked, and though he were slightly dazed from the impact with the tree, Rasalas was forced to duck from the incoming bolt of green magic.

Rasalas shook his head, then thrust both hands out, sending a surge of raw power back at the enemy. Though the wizard tried to block it with a hastily-produced shield, it had little effect in slowing the surge, which slammed the wizard against a large stone, and quite literally pinned him there a moment.

The wizard freed himself.

“ _CRUCIO_!”

Rasalas summoned the ward stone into the path of the spell, causing it to explode with the crash of glass.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ” The wizard tried, again.

Rasalas summoned one of the still-alive non-magical enemies into the path of it. This sent the remaining non-magical enemies scattering, now fearing the power of their foe.

“You are a strong wizard,” said his opponent, wand brandished. It was clear English, meaning...

“And you're pathetic,” Rasalas hissed, “No surprise I find dark wizard in cohorts with an invasion force. You would betray your king, your country?”

The wizard let out a laugh, and sneered. “Arthur is weak! We only bring about the inevitable!”

This one had to be captured alive, Rasalas decided, and unleashed a fury of stunning spells. The wizard side-stepped them all, and Rasalas was again forced to duck a torture curse.

“Is that all you know?” he shouted, before unleashing a series of blasting curses that landed at the wizard's feet, sending the man reeling. Rasalas followed up with a disarming spell, which sent the man crashing into a nearby clump of bushes, and finished with conjured ropes. Disarmed and bound, he wouldn't be going anywhere. He held up a hand, summoning his cloak, and tucked it away in his pouch.

“We'll see what Arthur has to say about your views,” Rasalas hissed.

“I do not fear your spineless king, boy,” the wizard sneered, defiantly.

Rasalas had nothing further to say to the man, and so levitated him off the ground, and had a quick look around. The sounds of battle were dying down at this point, signalling the end of the fight. Time to find his friends—

Rasalas was forced to duck, as a Saxon had come out of nowhere, swinging a heavy blade. Recovering, Rasalas nailed the attacker with a blasting curse that took most of his chest cavity. The man collapsed with barely a sigh.

The air was then penetrated by a number of horns sounding. The sound of feet could be heard, crashing through the underbrush... away from him if he had it right. He could see most of the companions up ahead, so the horns... were a signal to retreat.

He pulled his captive along, finally meeting up with Arthur, Accolon, and Brady.

“What reason do you have for keeping him alive?” questioned one of the knights.

“He turned traitor,” Rasalas answered, “I figured his majesty might like to have a few words with him and reward him in kind.”

“After he is questioned at length about his activities,” Arthur decided, smiling broadly for the first time in some time. “Rasalas Black. Brady Gibson. Please come before me.”

“Sir?” Rasalas questioned, but Arthur simply gestured to a spot two paces in front of him. Rasalas was still confused, but followed Arthur's instructions, with Brady quickly joining him. Two others had already taken over the handling of the captive.

“Fellow knights and companions,” said Arthur, “I would have you all bear witness. These two brave warriors in our midst... did without hesitation, stand and take fire on my behalf, forestalling what could have been my death. They then proceeded to fight alongside of us, quelling this latest Saxon threat to our shores.”

“Rasalas, if you would kneel.”

Rasalas did so, still mildly confused. Arthur drew Excalibur from its sheath, and touched Rasalas on the shoulder. Now, he knew what was about to happen.

“For bravery and excellence,” he said, raising the blade, and touching it on his other shoulder, “Sir Rasalas Black, shall you be hence forth known.”

Rasalas could feel the surge of magic as it left the blade, to coarse from his head down to his toes. He bowed his head, but then stood, to a round of cheers from the gathered companions, who had formed a circle around the impromptu ceremony.

“Brady Gibson, if you will also kneel.”

“But...”

“Just do it,” said Rasalas.

Brady knelt as Rasalas had, and removed his cap. Arthur touched Brady on the shoulder, speaking, “For Bravery and excellence.” He raised his blade, and touched the opposite shoulder, “Sir Brady Gibson, shall you be hence forth known.”

Brady, too, felt the surge of magic as it left the blade, to surge through his body. He too, bowed his head briefly, and stood, to another round of cheers from the gathered companions.

“My friends. I present, Sir Rasalas, and Sir Brady,” said Arthur, beaming. “As I would with all of you, I would trust them with my life.”

The gathering of companions threw another raucous round of cheers and applause.

“Young knight, we should perhaps return to the castle,” said Arthur.

Rasalas looked around a moment, before spotting a tree branch that would be appropriate. He summoned it, and programmed a port key.

“I need one person to remain behind and help us with the captive. I will create a second port key in a moment.”

“I shall remain here,” said Arthur.

“And so will I,” said Accolon.

* * *

Minutes later, all were again gathered in the castle's courtyard. A wooden stump doubled as an interrogation seat, with the captive bound to it. Rasalas produced a vial of Veritaserum, and the captive was then questioned while under its influence.

Unfortunately, questioning only revealed the person was a low-level thug at best, only interested in sewing chaos. Running with the Saxons seemed to be his way of entertainment, and dozens of people had suffered at the end of his wand for it. Arthur decided he'd heard enough, and had Rasalas administer the antidote.

While that was done, the king seemed to think a moment.

“Sir?” Rasalas questioned.

Arthur still remained silent. The sky had clouded over, as if to mirror the stormy event that had taken place over the past half-hour. The companions all stood silent, the seconds ticking by silently, until—

“Weyland of London. You have committed unspeakable acts against both me and the people for which I stand. There can only be one consequence of rising up against king and country... that you shall here and now forfeit your life.”

Lancelot and Accolon quickly moved the bound prisoner off the stump, only to force him to kneel in front of it. His head was forced down on it, while Arthur once again drew Excalibur.

“Any final words?”

“Die a thousand deaths, all of you,” the wizard sneered.

“Be thankful I'm not permitted to curse your afterlife,” said Rasalas.

The wizard continued to sneer, as Arthur raised his blade high over his head, then brought it down with all his strength. There came a sickening 'clunk', as the head was separated from the body. It rolled off the stump and onto the ground, coming to a rest a foot away.

“See the head placed on a pike, to be a warning for others who might contemplate following his lead,” said Lancelot.

“I'll... I'll vanish the body,” said Rasalas. Considering he'd just participated in life-or-death battle, this... what he'd just witnessed... had left him unsettled, to say the least. A man had been executed in front of his eyes. 

He glanced to Brady, standing at his left, and he looked green. The event had clearly upset him as much as it had Rasalas. He rummaged in his pouch for a calming draught, but Brady collapsed to his hands and knees, vomiting the remains of his last meal on the ground.

“See to things in my stead, Lance,” said Arthur, quietly, “I need to look after our new companions here.”

* * *

Rasalas and Arthur re-entered the sanctuary, with Brady supported between them. The man had not said a word since the execution, and Rasalas was concerned. The execution had unnerved him... he'd had a suspicion that was what would happen to the man, but seeing it actually done, that was a completely different story. Even now, he felt about as green as Brady did.

The three of them sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. Only then did Rasalas produce a calming draught from his pouch.

“Here.”

“No... stomach-calming draught, if you got one,” said Brady, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rasalas replaced the calming draught, but produced a stomach-calming draught in its stead, and passed it over.

“You have my apologies,” said Arthur, “I was unaware you have not been exposed to such things.”

“Don' mind me, I'll be all right,” said Brady, softly, “Jus' a whole bunch of shit went down today... seein' a guy lose his head... uh... God...”

“Just relax. I'm gonna make a fire call to Theresa, see if she can see us in an hour or so. This... it messed with me, too,” Rasalas admitted.

“No matter what, both of you acted for what is right, for what is just,” said Arthur, “Fault not what you have done today.”

“I don't,” said Rasalas, grimly, “And I know, this won't be the last time. My path has more battles ahead, whether they be alongside you and your companions, or my own fight against Voldemort and those who follow him. It's something I have to accept, and reconcile with at the end of the day. Forgive me if I'm not up to any sort of celebration today.”

“The companions will be disappointed that the men of the hour will be absent, but I will pass on apologies,” said Arthur, standing.

Rasalas, too, stood up. “Thank you, sir. Now, I need to make a fire call...”

Theresa ended up speaking to them for nearly two hours. Then, while Brady went off to see his brother and his mother, Rasalas took a port key to Avalon. It was after dark, but there was no such thing as 'business hours', particularly in the reason for his visit.

He approached the statue of the Goddess, and knelt in front of it.

“I'm not okay with what happened today,” he said. “I'll never be okay with taking someone's life. But... there I was. How was it... why... is this some sort of test? Don't I have enough to worry about... without the rubbish Arthur must face?

“Your Grace... I didn't come here to fight in another war. I didn't come here... to get involved... yet here I am. Here I am, having my heart pulled in two different directions. Here I am, fighting another war. What is it I'm supposed to do here? Please, help me out a little. Because honestly, I'm a bit lost right now.”

* * *

The unsettling event then severely limited the amount of time Rasalas was spending at Camelot over the next while, much to Arthur's disappointment. However, Arthur did not pressure Rasalas. It was his choice, much as it was Arthur's choice to spend time with Rasalas.

If they went flying then, it was into Brady's created room. At least there, they wouldn't encounter anything truly dangerous. Brady had continued to refine the space, as though a painter would continue to refine a cherished work.

Rasalas' broom, meanwhile, had to be serviced at Quality Quidditch Supplies at their Toronto store, since Rasalas couldn't figure out exactly what had been done to it, other than the flying spell had been somehow corrupted. It had taken a day to get it fixed, since it had to be sent back to the manufacturer. Knowing who the broom's owner was, the service was expedited, to say the least, but far more importantly, Rasalas got his broom back in top shape. It was something of deep sentimental value, considering it had been a gift from Sirius.

No matter what, training continued. Rasalas insisted on spending at least a few hours at the stone circle, whether Viviane was there or not. The ambush had been somewhat of a wake up call, reminding him of the real dangers that existed in 515 CE England. It had also been a reminder that, though they had fared more than adequately (the worst injury being the arrow through Rasalas' shoulder), there was still much to learn.

This also meant he was spending far less time with his school friends than he would like, but training had to take priority. He could have been killed. Brady could have been killed.  _Arthur_ , for that matter, could have ended up dead, bringing about disastrous consequences! History was being rewritten as it was. He'd not bothered to look in some of the texts they had used to study, but knuts to galleons, both his name and Brady's were now in there. Why had it been allowed in the first place? Wasn't such a thing considered a 'big' thing, something the universe wouldn't allow to be changed?

Unless... unless those who witnessed it, did not survive long enough for the event to be recorded. That would be the only thing that made sense, then. Very few of Arthur's knights survived the final battle at Camlaan. Most records agreed, perhaps only seven of the participants survived, all of them on Arthur's side... and there was no indication as to how well-known they were.

* * *

_August 31_

Being so wrapped up with training, focused on learning as much as he could, the final weeks of unofficial summer had flown by. The twins had settled into a very nice shop in Simcoe Crossing, and had opened a week earlier. Molly had been very much against it, until she learned of just how successful their opening week had been—their products had received a warm Canadian welcome, resulting in sell-outs and lengthy back-orders on a number of items. Rasalas had sent Dobby to help out, but even so, a number of things wouldn't be back in stock until sometime in September.

The preparations for the Labour Day Steam Festival had gone on without Rasalas noticing all that much. Brady certainly did mention things that were going on, but the events of August 11 still ate at him. The festival was a frivolous and unnecessary distraction—

“Ras... 'ya listenin'?”

“What?” Rasalas looked up from his barely-touched breakfast.

“You ain't heard a word I just said,” said Brady.

“No, I haven't,” Rasalas answered, softly.

“G-g-g-game face, Ras. We've got a lot to d-d-do before we open.”

“Just distracted.”

“By an event which is long past,” said Arthur, “Your friends need you here, not being clouded by dark matters.”

“Training is more important,” said Rasalas, “An entire weekend will be tied up with something that will not help me face deadly enemies.”

“You've been goin' non-stop since, Ras. Take a break and have a bit of fun,” said Aaron.

“I can't.”

“It's five days. C'mon, Ras. Dude, y-y-you've been helping us plan this since January. Don't tell us you're gonna b-b-bail.”

“Nothing is more important than my lessons right now. Everything else is crap, a distraction, and nothing more.”

Immediately, Rasalas knew he'd made a terrible mistake in what he'd just said. Both Ryan and Aaron looked crushed, while Brady looked furious.

“So my music's crap is it?” Brady slammed his chair back, and stood up, then stormed out of the room.

“Nice move, jackass,” Aaron hissed, “Never thought you'd pull that kind of shit. C'mon, Ry, we need to get set up for the day.”

“Guys... I...”

“F-f-fuck you,” Ryan muttered, climbing to his feet. The pair left, leaving Rasalas and Arthur alone.

“Your words were unkind,” said Arthur, softly.

“I know they were!” Rasalas snapped, frustrated, “I might as well have slapped him!” He made to stand, but Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

“Rasalas, no. None will hear your words just now. Give it some time before offering apology. Finish your meal for now.”

“I lost my appetite.”

Rasalas actually felt sick to his stomach, physical guilt over his off-hand, callous remarks. He'd offended everyone in the room, save for Arthur. Goddess, what else could go wrong?

There are certain questions that should never be asked, just as there are statements that should never be uttered aloud. 'What else could/can go wrong?' is one of those. For, as Arthur tried to open the door back into Camelot a short time later, he found it locked for some reason. He frowned, returning to the dining room, where Rasalas remained at the table, still picking at his breakfast.

“Rasalas, did you lock the door back into my chamber?”

“No. There isn't reason to. Why?”

“It has somehow become locked then. Is it possible for it to be locked from the other side?”

Rasalas frowned. “No. Only one of us can do so.”

Still, he got up, and with Arthur following, entered the parlour, and tried the door. Sure enough, it was locked solid. Equally peculiar, the door leading into the planetarium was also locked, and would not unlock with his spell-casting.

“Perhaps a port key might work,” Arthur suggested, “Though I do enjoy your company, there are matters of import back at Camelot.”

“I know. Hang on.”

Rasalas summoned a piece of fruit from the dining room, and attempted to create a port key. Unfortunately, the object shimmered red and buzzed rather violently, the tell-tale indicator of an invalid destination.

“All right. This is no longer funny in any way,” Rasalas muttered, now regretting his mental question of only minutes earlier. Yes, things can _always_ get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: With the door to Camelot not working, Rasalas and Arthur are resigned to take in the Steam show; conversations are had to clear the air over Rasalas' words; and most of the Weasleys, along with Hermione, return to England so the kids can catch the train to Hogwarts..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So, one has to wonder, how will Dumbledore react, being forced to address Harry/Rasalas as 'Sir Rasalas', or 'Sir Black'? I sense more entertainment ahead. ...and what's with the sanctuary's doors?_


	29. Vacation Ends and Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With the door to Camelot not working, Rasalas and Arthur are resigned to take in the Steam show; conversations are had to clear the air over Rasalas' words; and most of the Weasleys, along with Hermione, return to England so the kids can catch the train to Hogwarts..._

**212\. VACATION ENDS AND BEGINS  
August/September, 2006**

> _“No man needs a vacation so much as the man who has just had one.”_

  
\- Elbert Hubbard

* * *

Make no mistake. Rasalas was _very_ concerned. He'd not conceived of the idea that the artefact he'd grown so used to, behaving of its own volition. Now, for some reason, Britain's most important figure from over fourteen-hundred years in the past, was trapped in 2006. It was the sour icing on a most unsavoury cake he was being forced to eat as of late.

Arthur, however, took the situation in stride.

“Perhaps,” he said, “It is the work of the Goddess, forcing you to take rest as your friends have kindly suggested.”

“And separate you from your kingdom, sir! I... you don't belong here, both of us know that!” Rasalas protested, sitting heavily in a chair in the common room.

“I do not fault you for that. If the Goddess had not wished me to be here, then I would not be here. Are my words not true?”

“Still—”

“Rasalas, my young knight,” said Arthur, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I give you a king's order, to rest. To partake in activity that brings you joy.”

Rasalas blew out a breath. “I've been so thick of late.”

“Thick?”

“Stupid.”

“No, Rasalas. Perhaps, you have done something stupid, but most definitely, you are not stupid. Far from it,” Arthur spoke softly, “Becoming so embroiled in your lessons has blinded you to other matters, such as your friendships, both new and old.”

Rasalas knew Arthur was right. Even his sleeping pattern had suffered as of late, with his mind working in overdrive. He'd taken to using sleeping potions to ensure he got enough sleep over the past few nights... and that was walking a tightrope, as sleeping potions were known to be addictive.

As much as he hated the idea, training would have to wait. And of course, at this point, there was no indication of how long it would be, before the door unlocked itself. Surely it wasn't permanent—there was no way the universe would allow for Arthur to remain trapped with them.

“Rasalas?”

“Huh?”

“You appeared lost there.”

“Just thinking. What if you can't get back to Camelot?”

“Though there are a great number of people, dear friends and companions that I would miss dearly... there is a part of me that would rejoice should such a thing become a reality. For it to be so, would mean the many burdens would be forever lifted from my shoulders. That I would spend my days with you... it would not be a difficult potion to swallow.”

“Arthur, you don't belong here.”

“And both you and I know, such a decision is not ours to make. The Goddess permitted you to enter my world, such as she has allowed me to enter yours. It is her decision, and hers alone.

“That I am permitted to be at your side, I cherish every moment, waking or not. Our paths were meant to join, if only for a time. What is up to us, is how we spend the time given us. Let us not waste a second.”

Rasalas could only smile at Arthur's words. As much as he'd tried to fight it, resistance was becoming futile. It had been weeks since Arthur had actually slept in the castle, choosing to instead sleep spooned up against Rasalas. And now... he knew he was approaching the point of no return. Arthur was infatuated with him, and quite honestly, Rasalas had to admit, the feeling was mutual.

“Come, young knight, let us venture out and attend the festival your friends have worked so hard to assemble.”

“But Ryan...”

“You will have ample opportunity to make apologies. Now come. I would try that... 'Sky Wheel', is it?”

Rasalas could only grin madly.

Leaving the sanctuary and entering the house, Rasalas found the Weasleys still having breakfast in his dining room.

“'morning, all.”

“Hi Harry,” Ginny greeted.

“Did you eat already?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Yeah. We had... a meeting,” Rasalas answered. “Uh. So a reminder, there'll be a lot of non-magical people around today. This is a really big event for the Sawyers, so, absolutely no magic, unless it's life-or-death. Auror Jackson and the rest of the protection detail are already here, and I'd really rather you guys didn't get in trouble with the ministry.”

“Where are Ryan and Aaron?” asked Fred.

“Gone to get set up. They're running the train.”

“Thought you usually help out,” said Ron.

“We're having a bit of a disagreement right now,” Rasalas answered, “Something I'll straighten out later.”

“Oh.”

“And Mr. Gibson?” asked Hermione. Rasalas noted how close she and Ron were sitting.

“Part of that disagreement. Uh... I said something I shouldn't have, so they're not very happy with me right now.”

“Then you need to apologize, Harry!”

“It would only fall on deaf ears, Miss Granger,” said Arthur, “It is best to allow a bit of time and calmer heads before attempting to offer regrets and apologies.”

“So today at least, I would spend it in the company of my old friends, and offer apologies for being an ass as of late. I've let my destiny interfere with my relationships, something Aaron called me on this morning.”

“It's okay, mate, we get it,” said Ron.

“And is his majesty joining us?” questioned Ginny.

“That is my intent, yes,” said Arthur. He was once again dressed in some of Rasalas' clothes, as they were roughly the same size—in this case, a pair of shorts, and a light-coloured tee shirt.

“Now something else I need to remind you guys of. In public, or where the public is around, I need you guys to avoid using my old name. I'd rather certain people not get the idea it's acceptable.”

“You mean Dumbledore,” said George.

“Him being one of them. But realize, this event is a big deal in the area. The news covers it... and what Mr. Sawyer says, it keeps getting bigger every year, that without the music being added this year.”

* * *

Rasalas, his friends, and Arthur spent most of the day exploring the expanded exhibits. In addition to the six amusement rides the Sawyers owned personally, there were four additional attractions—two of which were aimed at younger visitors, provided by the ride enthusiast group. There were also perhaps double the concessions which had been set up the previous fall, most of them on Rasalas' property.

Arthur insisted in trying out all of the rides—at least the ones meant for adults. Rasalas had joined him on everything except for the Spider, having swore up and down to never try it again. Arthur became suspicious when Rasalas declined joining him on it, but Ron went in his place. When the ride finished, Arthur looked very green, and had some very choice words regarding such a 'vile contraption'. Rasalas could only laugh, though he apologized profusely immediately following.

“I had similar thoughts on the matter,” he managed.

“I would say Freddie, his majesty has just been pranked.”

“Oh quite royally, Georgie!”

Rasalas could only roll his eyes at the twins' antics, as they headed across the road to where the historic steam exhibit was set up. As had been the case on his birthday back at the end of July, Mr. Weasley was helping Phil with the steam tractor. This weekend, however, there were three additional machines in steam, all of them trucked in from other parts of the province. Though they were in competition with another steam show in Milton (about thirty kilometres west of Toronto), the owners of the three machines liked the closer event, even if it were somewhat smaller.

Some of the artefacts included historic farming equipment, also brought in from around the region. Rasalas was just as curious as his friends and Arthur were. Some of the pieces looked downright scary, and Rasalas could only imagine what they looked like when in operation.

The exhibit also included an enormous wood planer, and something called a shingle mill—the shingle mill was powered by a smaller portable steam engine. The planer, on the other hand, was not running, and as the note tacked onto the information sign read, it would be in operation the following day, dependent on the delivery of wood. Of course, that would make sense. If Rasalas had to guess, it hooked up to one of the tractors.

They ventured over to the miniature train after getting something to eat at one of the concessions, but Rasalas felt very uncomfortable with the glares Aaron was giving him, and so he and Arthur separated from the group. This worried Rasalas further, as Aaron's frosty treatment had not thawed with the day half-done.

“He hates my guts,” said Rasalas, as they crossed the road back over to the rides.

“He does not hate you,” Arthur replied, “Perhaps he is still upset, but no, I strongly doubt he hates you.”

“This is the angriest I've seen either of them. But worse... I... I have no clue where Brady went. You... you know he's been involved in a traumatizing incident back in January, right?”

“Somewhat.”

“It's not my place to tell you. But it really hurt him, left him scarred emotionally. So this... it could cause him to... well, I don't know how to explain it... maybe something like what Gwen's going through right now, but far worse.”

“She feels sad all the time.”

“It's called depression. Something deeper than just being sad, Arthur. And if... I mean... if he falls into that sort of thing here and now? Forget about him performing tomorrow night, that's a minimum.”

“From what I understand, there have been tickets sold for his performance, correct?”

“Yes. There are a bunch of seats directly in front of the stage that are reserved for V.I.P.'s—very important people. That includes us, by the way. So him cancelling, yeah, it would be a bad thing.”

“Then perhaps, you need to go have words with him, and learn where he is at, so that contingencies and alternate plans may be made,” said Arthur.

Rasalas felt a stone drop into the pit of his stomach. If he were honest with himself, he was dreading the discussion with his angry friends. However, Arthur was absolutely right. If Brady was in no shape to give his concert, then arrangements would have to be made sooner than later—refunds given out if necessary.

“Let's get back to the house a minute, then.”

They stepped into the house, with Rasalas momentarily appreciating the cool temperature—the summer heat had only slightly moderated over the last couple of weeks, but still pushing the high twenties, sometimes the low thirties during the day.

“Dobby,” Rasalas called.

Pop. “Sir Razzy call for Dobby?”

“I'm looking for Brady. Do you know where he might be?”

Dobby seemed to think a moment, before answering, “Sir Brady is being down at the water, sir.”

“Outside the house, you mean.”

“Yes sirs, he is.”

“Thank you.”

“Is sirs wanting Dobby to bring them to him?”

“I... wait. You mean, you can take us places?”

“It is being house elf magic, Sir Razzy,” answered Dobby.

Rasalas thought a moment. “Can you get back to Camelot?”

Dobby once again seemed to think a moment, before shaking his head. “No, Sir Razzy, it is being blocked from my magic.”

Rasalas let out a sigh. “Guess I should have expected that. The door closed and locked, it interrupts the connection. We should know that by now. Right. Uh, take—”

“This is one conversation you must have with him alone, Rasalas,” said Arthur, “I shall return to the steam tractors and help Mr. Sawyer. Come find me when you finish.”

Rasalas was about to protest, but... it did make sense. Some paths had to be walked alone, no matter how bumpy or uncomfortable they might be.

“Dobby, take me to Brady... not right to him, but fairly close, so I might walk the rest of the way.”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically, and offered a hand. Rasalas took it, and they popped away, only to touch down a second or so later, on the shore of Lake Ontario. Dobby then popped away.

The lakefront was perhaps a hundred or so metres from the house, with very little beach, really. It was most definitely not a smooth, sandy beach—mostly pebbles and stones of varying size. There was a path that led down from the road, but really, it wasn't the most comfortable beach front, and Rasalas had only been down there on a few occasions.

Brady stood at the water's edge a short distance away, his boots and socks a few feet behind, and his pant legs rolled up. He was tossing flat rocks into the surf, and watching them skip. A single Auror stood a ways behind, and at sight of Rasalas, he gave a nod, and said nothing. Brady also saw him approach, and gave a huff, but also said nothing. The look he gave, though... Rasalas had seen _that_ before.

It was a few minutes, before Brady finally scowled and spoke. “So you gonna say somethin', or just stand there 'an make both of us uncomfortable?”

“I... just...” Rasalas tried, but once again found himself at a loss for words.

“If you're just gonna hum an' haw, fuck off.”

Rasalas drew in a deep breath. Focus the thoughts. Get it wrong, and the guy was gone. It was that simple. The picture could not be any clearer.

“Last October... when you showed up at the Sawyers... I heard you speaking to Mrs. Sawyer.”

“What...”

“Let me get th-this out!” Rasalas pleaded, “I... So I heard you speaking to Mrs. Sawyer... and my first thought... 'I could listen to this guy talk all night, never mind sing'. I fell in love with that voice then and there. Just as I've fallen in love with the owner of it. You could sing from the bloody phone book and I would still love it, Brady. So to answer your question from this morning, no, absolutely not, not in a bloody thousand fucking years, do I think your music is crap. Never. Ever. Doubt that.

“I would do absolutely anything for you. I would _die_ for you. No matter who I end up with, I will always love you. Guy or not, gay or straight, I don't know, don't care. All I know is what's in my heart, and that's all I can answer for. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. My words were spoke with clouded judgement.”

Rasalas bowed his head briefly, and began to walk back up toward the path that led to the road. He'd pleaded his case. If that wasn't enough? What else could he say? The ball was—

“Rasalas. Wait.”

Rasalas stopped walking, and turned around.

“For the record, the feelin's mutual. I love you too, Ras. This shit you pulled this morning though... Good lord, son... think 'fore you open your mouth.”

“Lessons taken to heart.”

“An' maybe I was a bit hot-headed, just stormin' out.... but 'ya pissed me off.”

“I know. Soon as you took off, I wanted to chase after you, but Arthur told me not to. To let things cool off first. But Arthur pointed out something, and...”

“And?”

“Never mind. It doesn't matter now.”

“Tell me.”

“Just... don't get upset, but... Arthur was concerned you might not do your show tomorrow.”

Brady furrowed his brows, then it dawned on him.

“Oh fuck off, I ain't that fragile!”

“But you can see where he... and I for that matter. I mean it's eight months ago, but still.”

“I ain't gon' back to that shit. Trust me.”

“Well... err... good,” said Rasalas, finally closing the gap to once again stand beside him, “I don't ever want to see you like that again, and after my infection of foot-in-mouth disease this morning... that's one of the things I was afraid of. But I guess I should know you better than that... again I'm sorry.”

Brady simply gave a nod, but put a hand on Rasalas' shoulder.

“God, when you fuck up, you go all in.”

“In for a knut, in for a galleon,” said Rasalas, “When I fail, I do it in style—though honestly, usually it's not entirely my fault. Here I accept full responsibility, and only promise to try my best not to do it again.”

He then thought for a moment, before asking, “What were you doing here anyway?”

“Needed time to think. 'bout what I was gon' say to you later. Decidin' whether I should whoop your ass or just say 'fuck you' an' go back to Georgia, Voldemort an' his bullshit be damned.”

“Oh.”

“Won't be needin' either option.”

“No, guess not,” said Rasalas. He silently thanked everything holy such a conversation had not unfolded. He knew from experience, Brady's punches hurt. A lot. “So what were you doing while you were thinking?”

“Oh. 'ya mean this?”

Brady picked up a nearly-flat stone, leaned slightly, and flung it in such a way that the stone spun rapidly. It struck the crest of a wave, and skipped, hitting the next... and the next, before finally losing momentum and sinking in the rolling surf.

“How?”

“Don' tell me you ain't skipped rocks before.”

“Don't fault me, I've lived a sheltered life.”

They spent the remainder of the afternoon at the water's edge, with Brady trying to teach Rasalas how to skip stones. Try was the operative word, as Rasalas just couldn't grasp the concept. The only mutual result was that the pair of them ended up completely soaked, from the inevitable water fight and wrestling match. It was only when the Auror warned them about it being nearly time for the evening entertainment that they finally dried off and returned to the house via port key.

Rasalas remembered that Arthur had gone to work with Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Weasley at the steam tractor, and so that's where they headed, with the single Auror trailing behind. With so many people around, last thing anyone wanted was for Brady to end up overwhelmed with a crush of fans.

For the most part, however, the crowd was well-behaved, and it only took a half-hour to reach the steam tractor exhibit.

“Sir Rasalas. Sir Brady. All is well?” Arthur questioned.

“All is well, sir,” Rasalas answered, “We were about to get something to eat, then we're heading over to the stage. Coming?”

“Lead on.”

“Good heavens. I've missed dinner. Molly's going to have words...” said Mr. Weasley.

“I think Casey has dinner covered,” said Phil, “Though it might be a bit late.”

“We were just gonna grab something from the concessions,” said Rasalas, “Carnival food only comes around once a year and all that.”

“I did see one of them promoting deep-fried beer(1),” said Arthur. “I do wonder, how on earth they might accomplish such a feat.”

“Hmm... I think I'll pass,” said Rasalas, “Beer should be served just above freezing... not being immersed in boiling fat. That's mental.”

It was while they were getting dinner, that they ran into the Weasley kids, along with Hermione. She and Ron were holding hands, and Rasalas could only think, 'good on them both'. The larger group then retreated back to Rasalas' place to eat, since the picnic tables provided near the midway were all busy, and really, it wasn't that far of a walk back to the house. More security had to be provided, keeping the public away from the house and the back yard, but really... Rasalas didn't want people that close to the house.

As they ate, Hermione had to ask about what happened that morning.

“Been dealt with,” said Brady, “Ras apologized an' that's it.”

“Oh. Well, that's good. But...”

“Hermione, really. I've got two ladies here already who act like my mother at times. I don't need another,” said Rasalas, “Shit happened, we had a conversation, I apologized, it's over, we've moved on. Now please, for the love of everything holy, just _drop it_.”

“Were you all able to visit some of the exhibits?” Arthur questioned, wanting to deflect the conversation into safer territory.

“The cars were fascinating,” said George.

“Yeah. I think dad wants to take some of them home with him,” Fred added.

“Well, he'd be paying a heavy price. What Mr. Sawyer tells me, they're all really expensive, see. None of them are in production, haven't been for years. If I remember what he told me... uh... none of the cars here have a production date later than '75. And I think the earliest one is from 1910.”

“I thought the shingle mill was fascinating,” said Hermione, “It was a shame they weren't running the other things.”

“I think tomorrow,” said Rasalas, “The load of rough lumber didn't arrive yet. And I know the Sawyers are looking for a portable sawmill—not sure how that would work, but he said something about running it with one of the tractors.”

“For next year.”

“Yeah. Thing is, that kind of thing's pretty rare. So it's unlikely. But Mr. Sawyer's pretty resourceful, he has a lot of connections.”

“No matter, it really is fascinating. It's like a trip back in time.” She gave a little smirk, which both Rasalas and Brady returned.

“So Muggles used all this stuff,” said Ron. It wasn't a question.

“In a very few places, they still do,” said Rasalas, “At least according to Mr. Sawyer. Electricity is actually a relatively new invention, from the turn of the century. Steam, meanwhile, that's nearly a century older.”

“Not seen dad this happy in a long time,” said Ginny, “He's like a kid at Christmas.”

“As I knew he would be coming here. Though I'm guessing your mum likely isn't too happy with him.”

“She sees it as frivolous,” said Ron.

“The thing is, she needs to have a more open mind about non-magical people. It's not frivolous. I mean, think about it. Being able to drive a steam-powered tractor... there aren't very many people who can.”

“As Mr. Sawyer carefully explained back in July,” Arthur remembered.

“Exactly. Now whether or not this kind of skill will be needed again? Who knows. But it keeps history alive, right?”

“Sounds like they have you converted,” said Hermione.

“Just a little, yeah. I find if fascinating. And beside the point, what will I do once I complete... well, you know? Maybe we'll open a proper museum here.”

“No, you're comin' out on tour with me,” said Brady.

“That too,” Rasalas grinned. “And blow crazy amounts of money on it. But I'll still need something to do. Staying with the Sawyers has been an amazing experience, it's given me a chance to do some really cool things. Maybe it's not my calling, but... being an interest, absolutely. And needless to say, you guys will always be welcome here. There's a good reason I made the house as big as it is.”

“Mum's loved being here. Think she likes having the extra room,” said George.

“Not having to worry about cleaning either,” Ginny threw in, “Though she still wants to cook.”

“Knowing your mum, yeah, I can see that. And I also know she's looking forward to getting back home. No matter what, this isn't 'home' to her, and I don't expect it to be. But as I'll say to her and your father, if you guys want to come visit, it's only a matter of making a fire-call.

“If things get dangerous over there, I want you guys coming here. I protect my family and my friends.”

* * *

They only met up with Ryan and Aaron when they took seats for the evening's headline act, which went on just after 8 o'clock. Both immediately softened, seeing Brady and Rasalas close.

“Ryan... Aaron. I'm sorry for what I said this morning,” Rasalas apologized, “My head wasn't in the right place, though it doesn't excuse it. I had no right.”

Aaron only gave a nod, but Ryan said, “Th-thanks, man. What you s-s-said threw us both, right? Didn't make a whole l-l-lot of sense.”

“No, and my behaviour of late's been a bit rotten.”

“When did you talk to Brady?” Aaron asked.

“Earlier in the afternoon.”

“'an it's over and done,” said Brady, “Seriously.”

“We get it,” said Aaron. “Honestly, we missed you guys today helping with the train.”

“Can you make it one more day? Hermione and the Weasleys are going back to England on Saturday.”

“Oh. Forgot about that. Don't mind me, it's been a long day,” said Aaron.

“It has,” Rasalas agreed, “For different reasons.”

* * *

It was only after they returned to the sanctuary, that Rasalas told Brady, Ryan, and Aaron about the locked door.

“No way it's permanent,” said Aaron, “Arthur doesn't belong here.”

“It's a forced break,” said Ryan, “Th-th-that's my guess. All you've b-b-been doing lately, it's been about training, Ras.”

“And for a good reason.”

“'an you're goin' out of your mind with it!” Brady exclaimed, “Shit that went down this mornin', we don' need that. Arthur don' need it. You ain't yourself, an' ya need to find your head, 'fore 'ya hurt yourself or someone else.”

“I can only agree with Brady's words,” said Arthur, “For the next week, there is to be no talk of training of any sort. You must rest not only your body, but your mind. A visit from your healer might also be a thought.”

“I don't want people worrying over me!”

“Ras, whether you want it or not, people are gonna worry about you,” said Aaron, “God, stop acting so dumb about things!”

* * *

Friday turned out to be a much more comfortable day for all involved, with the incident of the previous day being left behind them. Rasalas once again spent a good part of the day with his school friends, although this time, both Arthur and Brady also joined them.

Rasalas tried to tempt Arthur with the Spider again, but the king had some very colourful language in his outright refusal. They most certainly rode all the others—at least those which were age-appropriate... the 'kiddie umbrella rides' most certainly were not (though Rasalas teased Brady, daring him to do so—earning a not-so-subtle rude gesture for the effort).

After having dinner, the large group took their seats at the main stage, to take in the evening's entertainment. Brady left them an hour before he was to go on, needing some time for last-minute prep and so on.

Then, at 8:30, Brady took the stage for his set. In addition to the lengthy play list of music his fans were familiar with, he introduced two new songs, including the one he'd shared with Rasalas and Arthur in early August. He also performed a few songs without his band, remembering the reception he'd gotten the previous fall. He finished just before 11 o'clock, and unlike the previous fall, the power remained on for the entire performance.

* * *

Saturday, everyone was up much earlier than usual, since Mrs. Weasley wanted to return to the Burrow for mid-morning England time. It made sense, as they would need some time to acclimatize themselves to the time change.

So it was, that just before 5 am, the Weasleys, along with Hermione, gathered in the parlour. Their luggage had all been transported back to England thanks to Dobby and Kreacher. There had been a shopping trip a week prior for school things—though Rasalas did not go with them, and it made sense to let the house elves take care of transporting everything.

“Well, Mr. Black—”

“Guys. We're on a first-name basis,” said Rasalas, “Formality isn't necessary.”

“Harry, then,” said Mr. Weasley, “It's been wonderful being here. Thank you for inviting us.”

“It's no trouble. And the invitation's open for Christmas if you like. Though I do hope it'll be without the nonsense that we saw last year. But no matter what, my door will always be open to you guys. You looked after me when no one else would, and I'll always remember that. Even if my memory doesn't.”

He found himself pulled into another bone-crunching embrace courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. She drew away.

“And likewise, Harry dear, you'll always be welcome at the Burrow.”

“Maybe later in the fall... likely won't be all that long, given I'm not exactly welcome in England and all that... but maybe Fawkes might like a bit of work,” Rasalas grinned.

“Not gonna be the same at Hogwarts without you,” said Ron.

“C'mon, guys, you managed last year. I'm a post owl away. And again, you guys will all be welcome at Christmas. Oh. And if you make Hermione cry, I'll come visit you in the small hours of the night, the wards at Hogwarts be damned,” Rasalas promised.

That only got a grin out of Ron, and a smile out of Hermione. Even then, the pair were holding hands.

“Seriously though, I'm glad for you both.”

He then turned his attention to Ginny. “Best of luck this year on your O.W.L.'s. It's really important you do well, see. And don't let Ron hog the... you-know-what.”

That got a grin from Ginny.

“The you-know-what?” Mrs. Weasley asked, furrowing her brows.

“Something Ron has that helps keep them safe,” Rasalas answered, forcing himself to keep a neutral face. 'Marauder’s map... mischief, more like it,' he thought. But what the hey? Dumbledore didn't do a whole lot surrounding school safety, so...

“Thanks, Harry.”

“All right you lot, it's just about time,” said Mr. Weasley. He held a colourful plush toy in his hand.

A final round of hugs (and kisses in some cases) ensued, before everyone took a grip on the toy.

“Be safe, all of you,” said Rasalas.

“You too, Mr. Black,” said Mr. Weasley, “In three... two... one...” and they were gone in a blur of limbs.

Rasalas let out a breath, then returned to the sanctuary. Perhaps he could get back to sleep. It was still too early to really be doing anything, and with the late night...

Wandering into his room, he had to grin madly, finding Arthur and Brady still sound asleep. Without Rasalas there, Arthur had spooned up against Brady. The devil on Rasalas' shoulder was then whispering in his ear, almost begging him to wake them up, just to see their reactions.

No, he would just let nature take its course. To get back into bed without waking them up, however... a flick of his hand made the bed just a little bigger, with another changing his clothes into something more appropriate for sleeping. He then climbed in next to Arthur, and doused the dim light.

* * *

The remainder of the weekend passed with little difficulty, though they were kept very busy with the event. Though, with his school friends headed back to Hogwarts, Rasalas found he was less-distracted. And, if he were honest with himself, the absence of daily training was a perhaps a good thing... the mental strain, coupled with the demands that came from summoning the ambient magic around him... it was wearing him thin in a number of places. The off-hand, but hurtful comments said on Thursday morning had been a glaring example of how things had slipped. Arthur—and likely the Goddess, with her shutting off access to Camelot and Avalon—were right.

With the event over, and crews moving to take down the stage, fencing, and the rides on Tuesday morning, Arthur, Rasalas, and Brady once again went flying in Brady's nature preserve, as he'd dubbed it. There were no animals as of yet, as the room seemed to be unable to do so. But just about everything else was do-able.

“Y'know... I'm almost tempted to bring my bike in here,” said Brady, as they did another circuit of the lake.

“No saying we can't,” said Rasalas, “Though I'm thinking at the rate you're going, you'll have the entire state of Georgia in here before we're done.”

“You're sayin' it like it's a bad thing.”

“I find it fascinating that you've been able to create such an astounding space with little more than directed thoughts,” said Arthur. Since Ryan and Aaron were tied up with Phil in the shop for the day, he had borrowed Ryan's broom, and so all of them flew solo for a change.

“So do I,” Rasalas agreed, “And we still don't know about just what it's capable of. I mean, at this point, I can feel the surge of magic, when the room creates something... but then that's it. It's like, it's been created and that's it. Nothing more is needed.

“It sort of goes against some of the laws of magic as I knew them... that there was always a trace left, ambient magic humming around something when it was touched by magic... but not here.”

“It must then be a product of the earth's magic itself,” Arthur guessed.

“Yeah. My thoughts, too. I mean, Avalon magic is much harder to call up, to wield... but when I do it... well, you guys know what I mean. It's exponentially stronger.

“I think we've really only scratched the surface on what this place can do... because of that very point. Let's face it... the earth's magical core is infinitely stronger than mine.”

“Think Voldemort'll ever learn it?” asked Brady.

Rasalas shook his head. “No. I doubt it. For starters, he would need someone who knows how to tap into it themselves. And I strongly doubt any of us will be showing him anytime soon.

“Secondly, Avalon magic requires a disciplined mind, as both of you know. Never mind the moral obligation. Remember the promise Viviane demanded from us, before even beginning our lessons. To use it justly. Voldemort would never use this power for just purposes. I think the magic would rebel against him just on principle.”

“So it'd be poison to him,” Brady guessed.

Rasalas gave a nod. “I think so, yeah.”

“We catch 'im, bind 'im up, an' throw 'im in the well at Avalon then.”

“Thought about that, but no. Somehow I don't think the Goddess would like that approach all that much,” said Rasalas, with a grin. “If there was ever anyone who is more unworthy of setting foot in Avalon, whether alive or dead, it's Voldemort.

“And we'd still have to deal with his henchmen and followers. Whether their master lives or dies, they'll still continue to spout the same hateful rubbish that got us to where we are now in England.

“My initial plan, is to destroy his power base. Take care of the monsters that kiss the hem of his robes. Then, we deal with dear old Tom himself. Finally, I give merry ol' England a swift kick in the nut sack, and bring them kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century.”

“I would suggest not allowing Mrs. Sawyer to hear you use such words,” said Arthur.

“Yeah, no kidding. I would be tasting soap for an hour, I think,” Rasalas grinned. “Right. Enough with that rubbish. The purpose of flying is to relax and enjoy present company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: The connection to Camelot is restored; Gwenhwyfar attempts something foolish; and Rasalas has an uncomfortable conversation with Theresa regarding Arthur..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: (1) Deep-fried beer: As far as I'm able to determine, this wasn't actually invented until 2010. It's AU, so bite me..._


	30. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The connection to Camelot is restored; Gwenhwyfar attempts something foolish; and Rasalas has an uncomfortable conversation with Theresa regarding Arthur..._

**213\. FALLING  
September, 2006**

> “ _Here is the tragedy: when you are the victim of depression, not only do you feel utterly helpless and abandoned by the world, you also know that very few people can understand, or even begin to believe, that life can be this painful.”_  
> 

  
_\- Giles Andreae_   


* * *

_September 8, 2006_

Even with the arrival of September, the scorching heat felt across much of the North American continent showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. Equipment damaged from overheating had become a common sight in the shop, and the air conditioning seemed to be running non-stop at times.

Without access to Avalon and Camelot, going outside meant dealing with the heat. And, though Rasalas appreciated the warmth more than it being cold, there were limits. Cooling charms only went so far on what he typically wore, and quite honestly, fetching his heavy jacket would look ridiculous—never mind Ryan and Aaron's standing promise to throw him in the pool, if they caught him wearing it again during present conditions.

That morning, then, brought relief, as when they woke up, voices could be heard in the common room: Lancelot and Accolon.

“Are you well, sire?” questioned Lancelot, as they reunited with Rasalas, Arthur, and Brady.

“All is well, Lance. Is Britain still intact? Or have the Saxons once again overran us in my absence?”

“All is well, sire,” said Accolon, “Though we all held grave concerns when we found the door here locked. What transpired for it to become so?”

“It is an answer we still do not know, Accolon,” answered Arthur, “Now how long have you waited for us?”

“An hour, maybe a little more,” answered Lancelot, as they walked toward the door leading back to Camelot. Rasalas and Brady followed.

“Sir Rasalas, Sir Brady, such clothes may not be suitable,” Accolon warned.

Rasalas looked at him oddly. “How so?”

“A chill has come over the land in the past week, that brings with it the dew and crisp air.”

“Let us then wait so they may adjust their wardrobe,” said Arthur. He glanced at himself. “And I would also make changes.”

In short order, the three of them had exchanged shorts and tee shirts for jeans and sweaters (or in Rasalas' case, his heavy jacket—the cooler weather was a perfect excuse). Only then did they pass through the door back into Camelot. The relief from the companions gathered at the round table in the great hall was almost palpable, as Arthur took his familiar seat.

“Did his majesty enjoy his extended time away?” questioned one of the knights.

“Though by no means was it intentional, but yes, it was time well-spent allowing my mind to rest,” Arthur answered. “Our connection to Sir Rasalas and Sir Brady's world was briefly interrupted. I trust things were kept well in hand during my unexpected absence.

“I trust this table to do what is in the best interest of our great nation in my absence. All of you have been dubbed knights and companions for that reason, that you represent the will of this land, the law of this land, that it be strong and resilient, in these difficult times.”

He thought for a moment.

“How does Gwenhwyfar fare?”

“Unwell, sire,” answered one of the knights, “She eats very little, this from her maidens.”

“Thank you, Cai. I will look in on her at conclusion of business here.”

“And where are your usual companions, Rasalas?” questioned another knight.

“Looking after business back in my own world,” Rasalas answered, “Detail I won't go into here, as it's irrelevant to business here. Please don't take my tone as being rude.”

“It's understood,” said the knight.

“And when is it you plan on returning to Avalon?” questioned another.

“Once Arthur sees to matters here, though likely it'll be Monday. Once again though, I'm sorry if we put any of you into a panic by separating Arthur from the castle and his obligations. This point, we still don't know what happened.”

Patricius gave a cold smile. “Then perhaps it would be unwise for Arthur or his companions to continue to visit your world.”

“A decision that is not yours to make, Patricius,” said Arthur, matching the bishop's tone.

They spent the next half-hour as the king was brought up to date on the events of the past week. Realistically, it was no different than had he been called off to a remote part of the country for a few days. The knights looked after things in the king's stead, with no one the wiser.

Then, while Arthur went to check in on his wife, Rasalas and Brady stepped back into the sanctuary.

“How long you figure he's gon' be?”

“I don't know,” Rasalas answered, “My guess, probably not long with Gwen. But he'll want to meet with others, it could be a few hours. Why?”

“Come for a ride?”

“On the bike?”

“Yeah. Hot or not, we ain't done it in a while.”

“No kidding. My break-neck pace with training didn't leave a lot of room for that. Again, I'm sorry.”

“'an it's done. I'm gon' change.”

* * *

This time, it was late afternoon before they returned. And, rather than parking at the Sawyers', Brady pulled up in front of Rasalas' house. A number of people had parked in the field during the steam festival, and so had made a packed dirt trail. A proper driveway had still not been made, but Rasalas realized this was something they did need... maybe a call to a contractor was necessary.

Hearing voices coming from the patio, they walked around, rather than going into the house. They found Arthur, Lancelot, Accolon, Cai, and another knight, all gathered at the table under the canopy. Another surprise, they found Casey was occupying a chair off to the corner, reading a book, while Betty was parked in a deck chair in the sun. Corey, Ryan, and Aaron, meanwhile, were once again in the pool.

“The pair of you went for a ride,” said Arthur. It wasn't a question.

“Forgive us for not leaving word. I assumed you would need a bit of time to speak with your knights.”

“We only came out here an hour or so ago,” said Cai, “This place you have, it is beautiful.”

“Welcome,” said Rasalas, “And... I'm sorry, I forget your name.” He indicated the newcomer. The man was rather stocky, much like Aaron was, with brown, wavy, long hair, and a thick beard.

“Bedwyr,” he introduced himself. “Likewise I find your home most astounding.”

“Just a simple rule, in case his majesty didn't already warn you. I ask you not wander too far. I'd rather not have you end up lost, or worse. Our world is complicated, and in many cases, dangerous.”

“As Arthur has already warned us,” said Cai. He was tall, with rather straight, blond hair and only a couple days' growth on his face.

Rasalas seemed to think on something a moment. “You guys have me surprised. Figured you would've stayed in the sanctuary at a minimum.”

“Gwen was being unreasonable,” said Arthur, scowling. “Even being confined to her chamber, her voice still carried into the hall. I wished to continue discussion without discomfort.”

“I'm sorry,” Rasalas apologized.

“There is nothing for you to apologize for, young knight. My wife is out of sorts. Now come. Join us and have some wine.”

“Got no arguments from me,” said Brady, as he pulled up a seat. Rasalas quickly followed.

“Mrs. Sawyer. I'm surprised you've joined us,” Rasalas noted.

“My husband and I are having a bit of a disagreement,” said Casey, “Ryan suggested I spend some time here and be out of the house for the rest of the day.”

“Oh. I didn't mean to pry. But you're always welcome.”

“'an mom just followed us,” said Corey, as he climbed out of the water. He then sat down, letting his feet dangle into the water.

Ryan and Aaron, meanwhile, whispered to each other, smirking. Rasalas, however, could quite easily guess what they were plotting.

“Y'know. I did threaten Mr. Gibson here, that I would lock him in a closet filled with bats. For Ryan here, I would instead booby trap the light switch in his room so that he be introduced to main current. I'm told it's rather unpleasant.”

Ryan paled. “D-d-dude. That's cruel.”

“A prank well-done, more like it,” Rasalas smirked. “Or maybe fill your bed with cockroaches while the pair of you are asleep. Of course, then, since I don't know what Aaron's afraid of... there is this wonderful thing called a Boggart.

“So yeah. I dare either of you to try and get me wet. See who gets the last laugh,” Rasalas promised. “I'm the son of a prankster. My godfather was a prankster. So play a prank on me at your own risk.”

“What might a Boggart be?” Bedwyr wanted to know.

“It's a creature that becomes the thing we fear most. For me... I don't remember, so don't ask. But... I know that Ron's afraid of spiders... so for him, it would become a giant spider, for example.”

“Such a thing... why would it exist?”

“It's something we will have to ask either God or the Goddess, when we cross over,” said Rasalas. “Just as I would ask why monsters such as Voldemort have been allowed in the first place.”

“It's what he has chosen to become, Rasalas,” said Casey, “Realize, we all have both good and evil within us. It always comes down to our choices that shape who we are.”

Rasalas was suddenly flooded with a flash memory, from a conversation he'd had with Dumbledore, several years prior...

“ _...It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities...”_

“Rasalas? Are you well?” Arthur questioned, drawing Rasalas back to reality.

“Just a memory. Something Dumbledore said to me a long time ago. The man can be wise sometimes.”

That brought silence over the table for a few minutes, before Brady shed his jacket and his tee shirt. He then flicked a hand at his feet, instantly removing his boots and socks, leaving them tucked under his seat.

“Goin' for a swim.”

“Good thought.” Rasalas simply flicked a hand at himself, instantly removing his jacket, shirt, boots, and socks. The jacket and shirt ended up on the back of his chair, while the boots tucked under his seat, similar to Brady's.

“You're not going in the pool in those!” Casey protested, jerking a finger at his jeans.

“My pool, Mrs. Sawyer,” Rasalas smirked. “Not really up to going all the way upstairs to change. Beside the point, we know drying charms.”

In short order, Arthur and the rest of the knights present were also in the pool, much to Ryan and Aaron's delight. While Arthur, Cai and Bedwyr shed their tunics and undershirts, Lancelot and Accolon only removed their footwear.

Rasalas had to suppress a smirk, seeing Casey's face redden several times over the course of a few minutes. Most definitely, Arthur and the knights were well-built, presenting plenty of male eye-candy. Of course, never mind the fact that Brady and Corey were also an eye-full... but Rasalas knew that already... at least in the case of Brady.

Ryan smirked. “I th-think we're setting a n-n-new trend.”

“Yeah, but I still wanna see these guys jump in wearing all their gear,” said Aaron, in mock indignation, “He did promise us a back flip off the diving board back on his birthday.”

“I'll sink like a stone. And it's heavy as it is.”

“Gettin' out'll be a bitch, yeah,” Brady agreed. “Tell 'ya what... donate, say, a hundred bucks to the Brain Injury Association, an' I'll dive in wearin' all my shit.”

“And I'll match whatever you guys contribute,” Rasalas promised. “Hey... what if we actually did film it and post it on _YouTube_. Get others to do the same?”

“All right... I'm game,” Brady agreed.

Ryan rubbed his hands together. “G-g-g-goody. I can dig out my snowmobile suit.”

Casey pursed her lips, but said nothing.

“And what might a 'snowmobile suit' be?” Cai asked.

“It's a r-r-really warm suit for riding... well, you guys will get it w-w-when you see it,” Ryan promised. “Unless we don't get any snow in the w-winter.”

“I got a heavy parka, but not a full suit,” said Aaron.

Rasalas smirked. “You guys know I'm not gonna complain right? Wear what you want, long as it doesn't make a mess in the pool. Besides...” Rasalas reached over and ran a hand through Arthur's soaked hair. “The drowned rat look is appealing.”

“Finally!” Aaron exclaimed, dramatically, “Someone who understands!!”

Arthur chuckled. “Perhaps next time then, I shall leave on my shirt and tunic.”

“Next time,” Rasalas grinned. He softened. “You guys can't be in the video though. For obvious reasons.”

“We can plan to be elsewhere,” said Lancelot.

“It w-w-won't take all that long as it is. F-f-five or ten minutes at m-m-most.”

Aaron, meanwhile, smirked. “Plan on doing it tomorrow then.”

“Show me proof of your donation and we'll do it,” Rasalas promised.

There came a  _pop_ near the stairs leading up onto the verandah, and Dobby appeared, bringing a distraught-looking maiden.

“Arthur! You must come quickly!” she exclaimed, “Your wife has fallen from the battlements!”

“What—when!”

“She was discovered missing a few minutes ago, sire. Guards discovered her during search outside the castle's walls. You must hurry!”

Just about everyone was hurrying out of the water, with Rasalas quickly drying himself off and summoning the rest of his clothes. By the time he reached the stairs, he was dressed and dry. He quickly did the same for the others.

“Dobby, have you seen the location?”

“No, sir Razzy, Dobby only heard young mistress calling for help and brought her to you.”

“Okay. That's okay. Return to what you were doing.”

It took several minutes to navigate back through the house, the sanctuary, and then through the castle, before they arrived at the scene of the incident, outside the castle's gates.

They found Gwenhwyfar splayed out on the ground, with a pair of guards already present to keep further harm from befalling the injured queen. Both Rasalas and Ryan knelt down beside her, and Ryan felt for a pulse, while Arthur also knelt down beside them, gravely concerned.

“She... she's alive, b-b-but barely, sir,” said Ryan.

Rasalas, meanwhile, focused on the woman's mind. His Legilimency skill was moving along quite nicely, and with his training at Avalon, it was becoming increasingly easy for him to enter someone's mind, particularly if they were not skilled in protecting it... such as Gwenhwyfar. He retreated only after a few seconds.

“She's tried to kill herself, Arthur. She can't bear to be around quote, 'heathens and crazy people' any longer.”

“How is it you know this?” questioned Cai.

“It's one of the arts I've been learning back in my own world,” Rasalas answered, “I can catch a glimpse of peoples' thoughts if I focus on them. In Gwen's case, she's become severely depressed. She quite literally wants to die.”

“Depressed?”

“Somethin' beyond sad,” answered Brady, “'an yeah, suicide happens a lot when people get like that.”

“I'll have to talk to Theresa about this. She will have potions that will help. Meanwhile. Let's get her back to her chamber.” 

Rasalas flicked a hand at the injured Queen, causing her to become rigid, her hands and legs snapping together.

It took a bit of time, but at last they settled her into her bed, and Rasalas summoned Fawkes. In retrospect, perhaps that should have been done first. All the same, he offered tears to help heal the number of cuts and scrapes.

“What can we do?” asked Arthur.

“She'll need to be watched at all times. If she tried once, she'll try again if she has the chance. I've got sleeping draughts and calming draughts in my potions kit, but... thing is, there are serious issues she has to deal with, or this will never go away.”

“I'm at a loss.”

“No shit,” Aaron muttered.

“Though it's not your fault, sir. God, I still can't understand why people hate magic so much.”

Arthur leaned in and planted a kiss on his wife's forehead.

“Do what you must to keep her well.”

Arthur left the room, with the others moving to follow. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked utterly defeated after this particular incident. Perhaps Gwenhwyfar wasn't the only one who would need to be watched, Rasalas realized.

Both Cai and Bedwyr mumbled their good-nights, and headed for their own chambers, leaving only Accolon and Lancelot to follow the king and the young wizards back into the sanctuary.

* * *

Though the following day was a Saturday, Rasalas still made a fire-call to Theresa, explaining the problem. In short order, the healer arrived by floo powder, and joined the small gathering in the dining room. It was not the first time Arthur had spoken to the witch, considering she was still working with both Rasalas and Brady at least twice a week.

“Your wife is all right?” was Theresa's first question.

“Resting comfortably in her chamber, madam healer,” answered Arthur, “Sir Black's phoenix was more than able to help her physical recovery.”

“Yes, they work some true magic,” Theresa agreed, “However, no amount of magic can help someone suffering emotional distress.”

“But there are things that can.”

“Not in the magical world, no. In the non-magical world, there are numerous medicines that can be prescribed, all of them having varying levels of success or failure, depending on the individual.”

“So you're gonna give Gwenhwyfar _Prozac_?” Aaron questioned.

“No. I have to make this very clear. Introducing such medications into Arthur's world would be a terrible mistake, even for the short-term benefits—and again I emphasize here, there would be no guarantee any of them would actually work.”

“The risks far outweigh the reward,” Arthur summed it up.

“Exactly, your majesty. I don't like the idea of saying 'no', as a part of me does say I go against my Hippocratic Oath by not doing something. However, there is the much larger scale that I worry about, that such medication ends up in the hands of other people.”

“Screwing up the history b-b-books,” said Ryan.

“Precisely. All I can do, is recommend a regimen of calming potions and mild sedative potions. Gwenhwyfar should also be watched at all times, as it's clear she has both the will and the motivation to actually end her life.”

“All of those things are being done already,” said Arthur.

“I really do apologize, and wish there was more I could do.”

“I understand.”

Theresa nodded. “Rasalas. A word in private.”

“Oh. Uh. Sure. Come into the planetarium.”

They stepped into the planetarium, and Rasalas pulled the door closed. Theresa then put up a privacy ward.

“You and Arthur have grown close.”

Rasalas blew out a breath. “Yeah. As much as I've resisted it. And yeah, I know the dangers of it. But what am I to do? The man's being slowly suffocated emotionally by his wife's rejection. He's leaning on me, rather than Lancelot, or his sister!”

“I can see you are frustrated with that sort of circumstance. And where is Brady in all this?”

“Right alongside me. But... Theresa, I... as much as I love Brady... what I feel for Arthur, it's different. And honestly, it's scaring the shit out of me.”

Theresa looked amused. “I see.”

Rasalas felt his face get hot. “What?”

“You are falling in love with him. Do you think the feeling is mutual?”

“I... I... yeah, possibly.” Now, Rasalas knew his face was likely several shades darker than Ryan's hair. “It... it's not funny!”

“I only find a rather interesting parallel, between Brady and Arthur. Both have been drawn to you through personal tragedy.”

“Yeah, that's true.”

“Think of how you've helped Brady work through his own trauma. Realize, that though their circumstances are significantly different, Arthur, too, is now suffering through an emotional distress of his own.”

“I know, and that's what really sucks! What happens when my training with Viviane is completed? What if say next week, we're done? Where does that leave him?!”

Rasalas sucked in a few breaths to calm himself.

“Things have a way of working themselves out at times. And somehow, I don't believe you'll be pulled away from Arthur's world anytime soon. I would suspect you'll have a connection there for several years. How goes your exercises there?”

“Well enough. I think being on the magical isle really helps. But... that's off point. What do I do about Arthur?”

“Let him lean on you, just as you allowed Brady to lean on you when he needed it. If it was meant to be, it would be a crime to deny it. Most importantly right now, keep an eye on him. It's possible he might fall into a depression too.”

“Sorta figured as much.”

Theresa let out a chuckle.

“What?”

“Your English is slipping.”

Rasalas rolled his eyes. “Blame Brady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: As summer transitions into fall, training continues, with Rasalas passing one of the tests those in the service of Avalon must take; and a meet-up with Ron and Hermione during a Hogsmeade visit ends in chaos..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: No surprise that Rasalas is picking up some of Brady's expressions. It's funny how a person's accent can rub off on others with continuous exposure._


	31. The Wrong Recipient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As summer transitions into fall, training continues, with Rasalas passing one of the tests those in the service of Avalon must take; and a meet-up with Ron and Hermione during a Hogsmeade visit ends in chaos..._

**214\. THE WRONG RECIPIENT  
September / October, 2006**

> “ _Right time, right place, right people equals success. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong people equals most of the real human history.”_  
> 

  
― _Idries Shah, Reflections_  


* * *

Gwenhwyfar's suicide attempt proved to be yet another distraction which wasted the weekend. Arthur was not interested in doing a whole lot, and that carried over to Rasalas, and that in turn, carried over to Brady. They ended up spending the rest of the weekend doing very little—although Brady did pull out his notebooks on both Saturday and Sunday for a while to get a bit of writing done.

Sunday night, meanwhile, brought a strong cold front, and with it, a number of rather powerful thunderstorms. It was a good thing Ryan and Aaron stayed in the sanctuary, as the storms would have caused major distress to the ginger-haired young wizard.

Monday, meanwhile, was a day of clean-up, as the 100 km/h wind gusts had uprooted one of the trees on the eastern edge of the yard, narrowly missing the small shop. Limbs had been snapped off of others, and debris had been blown all over the yard. That included most of the deck furniture, which ended up blown against the east tree break.

Rasalas discovered something similar had happened to his furniture, or in his case, some of it ended up in the pool, while other parts ended up blown nearly to the road. It was an awesome demonstration of the power of nature, and the day was truly wasted putting everything back to rights. Lots of cutting charms, repair charms, and banishing charms were used. The downed tree limbs were collected and put aside, as they would be burned during bonfires over the coming year—including one at Samhain.

The storms also brought with them a change in the temperature, with Monday's high only reaching 15C, apposed to Sunday's scorching high of 32C. The sky remained grey and stormy, with occasional showers driving everyone inside until things cleared off again.

After that, training at Avalon quickly resumed, and though the weather was also cooling on the holy isle, it was by no means as dramatic. However, it did get Rasalas thinking: what would happen when things became too cold?

“Winter never truly touches the magical isle, Rasalas,” Morgaine had explained. “It does get chilly, but not unbearable. But should you wish it, we can most certainly continue training inside your sanctuary. You are able to create spaces as needed?”

That brought about a rather quick solution, though for now, Rasalas did not implement it. As long as it were bearable at Avalon, he preferred to train there.

The remainder of the month, then, passed in a haze of lessons, broom rides, rides on the bike (at least for Rasalas and Brady), or going for a drive, borrowing the Sawyers' truck. Rasalas was careful not to overdo it with training, but give it his all when he was there—as he made sure to give his friends undivided attention outside of it.

The pools were both shut down for the winter by the last week in September. In the case of Rasalas, he simply created a cover that acted like a giant, solid lid. With unbreakable charms on all of the plumbing, and the actual pump and filter being installed in the cellar, there was little need of doing anything else. The Sawyers' pool, meanwhile, was a case of just draining the water down to below the intake, removing the pump, filter, and hoses, then shrinking the pool itself down to the size of a five-gallon container. It was then stored in Rasalas' cellar, since he had more room.

As September transitioned into October, Rasalas couldn't help but reflect on the year he'd spent in Canada. More than a year, if he really thought of it, considering it was the first week in August the previous year, that he fled from England. Magical England had thrown him away like a piece of trash—that much was clear. Only after the debacle at the ministry a few months prior, did the ministry actually take their blinders off, having seen Voldemort for themselves.

Now, of course, there had been more than a few overtures for him to return to England and get proper lessons, training, and other such tripe. Then there were the numerous angry letters sent out by misguided and ignorant members of the public, all of them accusing Rasalas of abandoning his destiny, leaving them all to the mercies of a mad man. It was a very good thing the house wards prevented a number of things actually working... it was rather frightening what people would dare put in an owl post.

Of course, he'd sent replies to some of the worst, all of them with very nasty hexes attached. Such mail was very quickly curtailed... perhaps England's wizarding public wasn't as stupid as they seemed... or not. No, they were sheep, that was the best description, with very few exceptions.

In stark contrast, his new home in Canada was turning out to be perhaps the best decision he had made. He had only a handful of friends, but all of them were strong allies. He was treated with respect and equality by the Canadian ministry, and usually treated kindly when out looking after affairs in Simcoe Crossing. Oh yes, people knew who he was, but Canadian witches and wizards tended not to throw that much of a fuss about it.

His training, meanwhile, was really taking off. More and more of his time was used in simply trying things. Conjuring things, being his largest exercise in recent days. How quickly can he conjure up solid objects, and get that object into the path of a dangerous spell or projectile?

“Why conjure somethin' though?” Brady had asked, “A shield's quicker ain't it?”

“A magical shield cannot block the killing curse,” Rasalas answered. “You have two choices: put something in front of it, or get out of the way of it. And as far as I know, a shield won't block non-magical projectiles either.”

“Need to find out.”

“...using something other than live bullets,” Rasalas had finished.

They had ended up using a paintball gun, which quickly proved Rasalas' suspicions: the magical shield only protected against magical threats. Even things which were conjured became non-magical constructs once instantiated—a double-edged sword.

Brady, too, was making rather impressive progress, as much like Rasalas, he had a strong grasp of the basics. Being able to summon the ambient magic around him, then channel it into an effect. He still had difficulty with complex manipulations, but many basic charms and spells one would learn as first, second, or third year-students at Hogwarts... he could easily replicate.

Of the group, it was Arthur who seemed to struggle the most, however. Though he were magical, he still struggled with the very basic concepts... the very building blocks needed to effectively wield the magic of Avalon. Without the foundation, he would go no further.

* * *

_October 3_

It was the first time since setting foot on the magical isle, that the large group was once again spread across four boats, on the outside of the mists. Rasalas was somewhat alarmed to learn of what he was required to do, but...

“Does that mean my training is finished?”

“Not at all,” Viviane had answered, “Only that you advance to more challenging lessons, things I would still like to teach you. And most certainly, you still have work to do with your spiritual projection. But you are ready to part the mists, young mage.”

Now, Rasalas and his circle of friends once again found themselves at the edge of Avalon, the bell of Glastonbury tolling in the distance. The wards separating Avalon from Glastonbury were effectively a giant Fidelius charm, which Rasalas now knew the secret to—through belief. How had that happened, anyway? No matter. It was something he had acknowledged back in February as it was. The Goddess had revealed herself to him, in all her glorious splendour. If that didn't make him a believer...

Rasalas stood up at the prow of the boat, and sucked in a deep breath. “Your grace. I am in your hands,” he spoke, as he raised his hands high above his head, palms out. He then swiftly brought them down... and the mists parted, fog being burned off by the mid-morning sun, revealing the magical isle in all its glory. Much like the previous time when Morgaine had parted the mists, all could feel a powerful surge of magic wash over them. Rasalas couldn't help but grin, knowing it was his actions that spawned it on this occasion. Something akin to unlocking an enormous door.

* * *

_October 14_

A recent letter from Ron and Hermione had informed him of the first Hogsmeade weekend, and asked him if he'd be attending. It was a resounding 'yes'. Since it was a weekend, training wouldn't be interrupted, and there would be no concern about how long they took.

It had only taken a conversation with Auror Jackson, who made the arrangements on Rasalas' behalf. Amelia Bones had sent word back via owl post on the day before, letting him know he was more than welcome to spend some time with his school friends. A return port key had been included—not that Rasalas would really need it, considering his new ability.

There had been a brief debate about who would be going, however.

“As much as I would like to come and mingle in a crowded market with all of you, the risks could be very great, particularly for me. You must understand that,” said Arthur, “And likewise, for Lancelot.”

“Less so for me,” said Accolon, “I would come along. As long as I am able to borrow clothing that will make me look less conspicuous.”

Ryan thought for a moment.

“W-w-we should let Kate know... and where's Bill?”

Rasalas snorted. “Right. He's not even been  _near_ Hogwarts, and he's already pulling in reinforcements, 'just in case'.”

“It ain't paranoia if they really are out to get'cha,” said Brady with a shrug.

That got a blank look out of Arthur, Lancelot, and Accolon, but a smirk out of Ryan, Aaron, and Rasalas.

“Uh huh. Right. Let me make a fire-call, then. Accolon, feel free to borrow some of my things. You know how to resize them to fit by now.”

“Of course.” He gave a nod to Arthur, and left the room, heading for Rasalas' room.

While Rasalas made fire-calls to Kate and Bill, Aaron questioned, “What will you be doing while we're out, sir?”

“I will look in on my wife once again,” Arthur answered, “It will depend on the outcome, what I shall do next.”

“If 'ya need to, you can use my room an' go flyin',” Brady offered.

“Perhaps.”

“If it... if you need to get to us... Fawkes can probably get you to us.”

“No matter the outcome, I will not intrude on your visit,” said Arthur.

Minutes later, the fireplace roared green, and Bill stepped out of the flames, to then use his wand and vanish the ashes from his clothes.

“I assume you're ready to leave now,” he said, simply.

“Just waiting on Accolon.”

“Sure that's a good idea?”

“People won't know who he is once he's changed.”

Rasalas had just finished, when Accolon returned, dressed in a pair of jeans, and a heavy hooded jumper. Rasalas couldn't help but grin. The man looked good in modern clothes. He could feel his face getting hot.

“Shall I strike a pose, Sir Rasalas?” Accolon teased.

“Piss off.” He dug in his pouch for the port key. “Uh... shall we?”

* * *

Just after 11 am, Rasalas, Brady, Bill, Ryan, Aaron and Accolon arrived in Hogsmeade thanks to the port key provided by Madam Bones. The six of them didn't take long to re-orient themselves, before heading for the Three Broomsticks, the chosen meeting place. They'd only gotten a few feet, when Professor Flitwick walked up to them. Accolon found himself having to look down to meet the vertically-challenged professor's eyes.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Black. Good to see you again.”

“And likewise, Professor. My new friends, Brady, Ryan, Aaron and Accolon,” Rasalas introduced them. “Guys. A former professor... uh, Charms, if I remember correctly, Filius Flitwick.”

“Ah. A name from Arthurian legend. Welcome!”

Accolon looked puzzled for a moment, but wisely didn't comment.

“I believe Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and a few others have commandeered a booth inside.”

“Great. It's good to see you again, Professor.”

“And likewise. We do miss having you around, Mr. Black.”

“And some part of me does miss being here, sir. Anyway, we'd better...”

“Of course. Do take care.”

Rasalas watched the rather short professor wander off to chat with another group of students. Then he got an idea.

“Accolon. All of you for that matter. Turn around, and look behind you.”

The young knight did so, and found himself astounded.

“Holy...” Brady, like the others, had most certainly seen the aerial image of the building from the map in the planetarium, but to see it for real?

“Goddess...”

“That's Hogwarts,” Rasalas explained. “That's the school I should be going to, but... you all know why I can't.”

“Damn. And I thought Camelot was something,” said Aaron.

“Camelot has magical roots, but tame compared to Hogwarts.”

“When was it built?” asked Accolon.

“About a thousand years ago, sometime around one-thousand Common-era, or about five-hundred years after your time. Built by four of the greatest witches and wizards of the time: _Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor,_ and _Salazar Slytherin_."

" _Slytherin_ … where have I heard that name before?" Accolon said, mostly to himself.

Of course, Rasalas realized. The builders of Hogwarts likely came from well-known, ancient lines of their own.

As they stepped into the Three Broomsticks, he was quickly waved over to the corner booth, that had to be enlarged so everyone could be seated. After introductions were made and a privacy charm erected, the discussion quickly moved into a summary of events that had taken place since the beginning of the year.

The most surprising, was the efforts of his two old school friends. Ron and Hermione had started a defence club. It was something they had debated about doing the previous year, but did not in the end.

“How come you guys didn't mention this over the summer?” Rasalas wanted to know.

“We weren't sure if... well if we needed it or not,” answered Ron.

“Who's the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year?”

“Snape,” Ron muttered, “Greasy bat.”

“How come they don' fire 'im anyway?” Brady asked.

“C'mon, Brady. It's Dumbledore. I don't think he's ever fired someone... am I right, guys?”

“No. Not that I know of,” said Bill. He picked up the glass that had appeared in front of him, and poured himself a glass of butterbeer from the pitcher at the centre of the table.

“I don't think Dumbledore really knows what evil looks like,” said Rasalas, “I mean, I think he believes everyone can be 'saved'. Even Voldemort.”

“Such thinking is outside of reality,” said Accolon, “There are some who cannot be redeemed, this is a known fact where I come from.”

“And where do you come from?” asked Neville.

“A place far from here, that must remain a secret. It has taken some effort that I might be with you today. Know that I and my king view young Rasalas and his friends to be allies.”

“Right. So this... defence club. How does it work?”

“It's a fully-sanctioned club. Professor Flitwick is our... uh, faculty sponsor,” said Ron. 

That got a smile from Hermione. “He sits in on our sessions if he can,” she continued. “We didn't know he was a duelling champion.”

“His skills are wicked,” Neville threw in, “We're all learning loads.”

“'course, it was weird at the beginning,” Ron remembered, “We actually have a few Slytherins in the club.”

“Really? That's... that's good to hear. Not everyone's evil, Ron.”

“Exactly what I said, Har—Rasalas.”

“Of course... Malfoy and his cronies tried to join,” said Ginny.

“Thing is, we just let the membership decide. It was an almost resounding 'no', believe it or not. Only a few of the Slytherins voted to let them in, and one Ravenclaw,” said Neville.

“How many members in the group?” asked Aaron.

“About forty.”

Rasalas was impressed. “Good on you guys. Well done.”

“If... if you-know-who decides to attack the school... we need to do something, right? And the way the ministry treated you... we all realized, we need to step up,” said Neville, confidently.

Rasalas was again impressed. The few memories he'd seen of the boy were rather different than the confident young wizard sitting with them at present. The 'you-know-who' rubbish, meanwhile...

“Guys. One thing I insist on, is that we not use 'you-know-who', or 'he-who-must-not-be-named', or other rubbish. It's Voldemort. Just speaking his name won't cause him to magically appear in our midst.”

“But... Rasalas... there is something very close,” said Hermione, “It's called a 'taboo curse'. I don't know all the details, but I know it can break a lot of security enchantments.”

“I'll look it up. But tell me. Has speaking his name summoned him or his followers recently?”

“Well... no,” said Neville.

“Then come on guys. Be brave. He's a foolish, mental wizard, and a coward to boot. What was that phobia, Hermione?”

“ _Thanatophobia_. The fear of dying.”

“That's right. Our crazy Dark Lord has a clinically-diagnosable mental disorder, likely one of _many_.”

“I keep sayin', just shoot his ass,” said Brady.

That earned a scandalous look from Neville.

“Muggle weapons? Merlin, people would throw a fit!”

“So? They'll still be alive now, won't they?”

“We've talked about that stuff,” said Rasalas, “And quite honestly, I'll do whatever I have to, when the time comes. Even if my soul is thrice-cursed because of it... I was put on the earth to—”

Ron elbowed him, and gave a jerky nod toward the door. Rasalas glanced over, to see Draco Malfoy step into the pub, a plainly-wrapped package under his arm. It was the size of a medium-sized book.

“Who's that?” Brady wanted to know.

“Draco Malfoy,” Ron muttered.

It was obvious Malfoy did not see them, and so crossed the room, and stepped into the restroom.

“Ten to one he's up to no good,” said Ginny.

“A bet I would probably lose. He's always up to something.”

“As your memories have proven,” Rasalas agreed.

“He could just be answering a personal call… you know…” Accolon pointed out, before taking another swig of his drink. It wasn't the first time he'd had butterbeer. Though it had no alcohol, it still had a nice flavour.

“Nah, he's plotting something. He's always plotting something,” said Ron. That got vigorous nods from the other Hogwarts students.

“Forgive me. I know not of the tale,” said Accolon.

“Nemesis. Sworn enemy since first year,” said Ron. “His father's a Death Eater, though rumour has it he's in Azkaban after the rubbish at the ministry in June.”

“Ah. The picture becomes a little more clear.”

Just then, Draco reappeared, without the package.

“Definitely up to no good,” said Ron, getting easy agreement from the others.

“We'll wait 'till he leaves,” said Rasalas, “Bill, you mind coming with?”

“I would insist. Would one of you mind stepping over to the fireplace and fire-calling Professor Snape? Just let him know we've got a suspicious object that might be cursed.”

“Snape? What do we need him for?” questioned Ron, uneasily, while Hermione was already making her way to the fireplace on the other side of the room.

“Better to have a teacher already on the way, particularly the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, given his… expertise. Follow?”

“Bill's right, Ron,” Rasalas agreed, “Okay, let's go.”

The package was non-descript, left to rest on the back of the water closet in one of the stalls. Rasalas, unfortunately, was drawn to it the instant he come into range of it. It was as though something had taken him over, and he was opening the package before Bill realized it... reaching into the dark-coloured box, for the item inside of it...

“Rasalas! No!”

But it was too late. The instant his hand came in contact with the turqouise-coloured amulet inside it, Rasalas' feet left the ground, and the room reverberated in a God-awful scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: A visit to the hospital wing, where Viviane is summoned; the Lady of the Lake then has a few words for a certain meddling headmaster; Rasalas is then moved to Avalon's stone circle; and Arthur has an uncomfortable conversation with Brady about their relationship with Rasalas..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So… what would have happened, had it been Harry who touched the cursed necklace Malfoy left in the bathroom? Guess we're about to find out, eh?_


	32. Interference, or Intervention?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A visit to the hospital wing, where Viviane is summoned; the Lady of the Lake then has a few words for a certain meddling headmaster; Rasalas is then moved to Avalon's stone circle; and Arthur has an uncomfortable conversation with Brady about their relationship with Rasalas..._

**215\. INTERFERENCE OR INTERVENTION?  
October, 2006**

> “ _Most of the times we don't need a divine intervention but a human one.”_

  
― _Jasmina Mednolučanin_  


* * *

Back at the booth, everyone was on their feet, hearing Rasalas scream. That seemed to coincide with Snape's arrival through the fireplace. His wand was out in an instant.

“All of you will stay exactly where you are until I return,” he ordered, before storming into the restroom.

Inside, Bill had already conjured a strong, warded box for the object, and was now doing his best to determine exactly what was wrong with Rasalas. A silencing charm had to be applied, after which he began casting every diagnostic charm he could think of.

“Allow me, Weasley,” Snape asserted, “What have you done up to now?”

“Silencing charm, just starting to scan for curses—Merlin, he's convulsing!”

A simple thrust of the professor's wand, and Rasalas' extremities snapped together so he appeared like a statue. Another gesture from his wand, and the young wizard fell unconscious.

“He must be moved to the infirmary at once, I may not have the tools to help him."

“Kreacher?” Bill called. The elf appeared at once with a soft 'pop'.

“Weasley boy call for Kreacher and Kreacher answers,” he intoned.

“Can you take us all to the hospital wing at once? Rasalas is gravely ill.” Bill gestured to the stunned boy.

“Kreacher is taking at once,” the elf said, reaching down and taking hold of Rasalas' coat, then offering a hand. Snape sneered, but took it, with Bill gripping a little further down, about his wrist. They vanished with a noisy _CRACK_.

They reappeared in the schools' infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey set upon them at once.

“What's happened?”

“Cursed object, don't know how serious,” answered Bill, quickly, while the matron was already levitating Rasalas onto a nearby bed.

“Kreacher. Go back to the Three Broomsticks, and bring everyone else back at once, they'll be worried.”

“Of course, Mr. Weasley,” said Kreacher, bowing low. He popped away.

“Professor McGonagall needs to be aware of this,” said Snape.

“Madam Pomfrey, if I might borrow your floo?”

“Of course, dear.” She simply waved him over to the fireplace.

A matter of seconds later, there was a noisy CRACK, and a group of people appeared in the middle of the room, all looking gravely concerned.

“Where's Rasalas?” Hermione demanded, before Brady had the chance. Brady, however, quickly realized where his friend was, and hurried over, the others in tow.

“You'll all keep your voices down,” Madam Pomfrey said, coldly, “This is not your common rooms!”

“Bill?” questioned Ron, but quickly realized he was speaking to someone through the floo. “Bloody hell, he come back for just the afternoon, and something _mental_ happens.”

“Language, Mr. Weasley,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“Sorry.”

Bill finally finished his conversation through the floo.

“Mr. Black touched a cursed object… a necklace of some kind.”

He withdrew the miniaturized box from his robes, and passed it to Snape.

“I've dealt with my share of dark objects, but…”

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” said Snape, cutting him off.

He drew his wand, and restored the box to original size, then levitated the necklace out of it. While it was still suspended in mid-air, Snape cast a number of detection spells on it, seeming to pause several times.

“And?”

“Mr. Black is lucky to be alive.”

“Severus… this is most disturbing,” said Madam Pomfrey, finally, “Whatever that necklace has done, it is quite literally tapping the boy's magical core!”

“How much time do we have?” questioned Accolon.

“And who are you, exactly?” questioned the mediwitch.

“Jus' answer the fuckin' question,” Brady growled. The angry scowl on his face all but dared the mediwitch to correct his language.

Madam Pomfrey huffed, but answered, “A few hours, at most.”

“We need the assistance of the Lady of the Lake,” said Accolon. “Kreacher, my little friend. Are you able to get to Avalon from here?”

“Yes, sir Accolon.”

“Then see it so, and deliver a message to Viviane, that her student has befallen grievous injury and requires urgent help; we require her help here.”

“J-j-just convince her to come back with you—wait. Take me w-w-with y-you,” said Ryan.

Kreacher simply held out a hand, and Ryan took it. They disappeared with a noisy crack.

“Avalon? What nonsense—”

“The top secret kind,” Aaron muttered. He felt very much out of place, and a little afraid, if he admitted it. By their standards, he was a Muggle. If it were found out...

“Albus will need to know about this,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“At least let us be gone from here before you tell him,” said Bill, “Last thing we need is his interference, and that's exactly what we'll get if he shows up.”

Snape, meanwhile, arched an eyebrow. Whatever Potter—or Black, as he now called himself—was up to these days, it most definitely involved something of Arthurian legend. The proof stood in the room, in the form of one of Arthur's knights.

“What possessed you to bring someone from fourteen-hundred years in the past... into our present?” he finally sneered.

“Top secret kind,” said Aaron, again.

“Look. Professor. We didn't come here to start arguments. Ras wanted to meet up with friends, nothing more. As far as they know, he's just a new friend.”

“With intimate knowledge of the future,” Snape sneered, “Do you not know—”

“Rasalas has been careful to explain the dangers of future knowledge, Professor,” Accolon answered, “Risks have been taken, only for great benefit.”

He took a breath, and blew it out.

“Though they have not directly stated for fact, we know our time is finite. My interest here, as well as my king's, is to help Rasalas to protect a distant future.”

“Securing tools and skills that will help him against Voldemort,” Aaron finished.

“Do not speak his name,” said Snape, harshly.

“Voldemort,” said Brady. “I don' see him comin'. Voldemort.”

“Voldemort,” said Aaron. “Ras thinks he's got a mental disorder.”

Snape sneered again, but said nothing.

Just then, there came a noisy crack, and Kreacher returned, bringing Ryan and Viviane.

Those in the room who did not know who the woman was, could easily pick up the powerful aura she was broadcasting, as she rose to her full height, cold fury etched on her face.

“Explain!”

“A cursed object, y-your grace.” 

Even Bill was very much intimidated by the woman in their presence, as he indicated the box containing the necklace. It now rested on a small table. Viviane strode over to the table, and with a gesture of her hand, levitated it into the air.

“Who would lace an object with such terrible magic?”

“Rasalas said it was someone named Malfoy,” Accolon supplied.

“I would see him stripped of his magic for abusing his gift in such a manner,” she hissed.

“He is only a boy,” Madam Pomfrey protested.

“N-n-nearly an adult!” Ryan shot back, “H-h-he put th-this thing in a pu-pu-public place, w-w-where just about _an-an-an-anyone_ c-c-could have picked it up! And you w-w-wonder why Ras d-d-doesn't want to _b-b-be_ here any-m-m-more!”

He was so upset he was visibly shaking. Aaron put his arm around him, trying to calm him down, but had little success.

“This magic was meant to kill, healer Pomfrey,” said Viviane, coldly. “Step away from the bed while I conduct my own observation, and determine how best to undo the damage.”

“I never...”

Snape, meanwhile, was held speechless. The legendary  _Lady of the Lake_ . At Hogwarts. Here and now. He was either going mad, or...

“Great Merlin...” he muttered.

Viviane, meanwhile, held her hands out over the petrified wizard, seeming to concentrate for a few moments.

“He will have to be removed to Avalon where I have access to herbs.”

“He is not leaving until—“

“Neither your magic nor your potions can help him.”

Just then, the doors to the room slammed open, and Albus Dumbledore stood framing the doorway, looking severe, wand drawn. Professor McGonagall stood behind him, as did Professors Vector and Sinistra.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. Leave this room or have your magic bound for the next seven days,” Viviane threatened, allowing the magic to surge around her.

Dumbledore actually backed up a bit.

“Who are you?” McGonagall dared ask.

“A representative of someone you have forgotten for many ages. The Goddess is displeased with your handling of certain affairs, headmaster. You will be called to answer for each and every one of them in your future,” said Viviane.

She then let out a laugh.

“Do not try your foolish mind arts on me, headmaster. And raising your wand to me would be a tragic mistake.”

Ryan let out a snort.

“T-t-t-tragic to some. Rasalas w-w-w-would likely throw a p-p-party though.”

Viviane, meanwhile, levitated Rasalas off the bed, as she cast a few other spells to check for any further complications.

“We will have to wait until Mr. Watson returns.”

“Will h-h-he be okay?”

“With herbs and potions, he will make a full recovery.”

“Your grace,” said Snape, finally, “Though I no longer teach potions here, my potions stores are at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Professor, your offer is kind, even though your past attitude toward your former student is deplorable,” said Viviane. “I trust that will not continue, or you will face consequences of your own.”

That garnered a scowl and a curt nod from the potions master. For someone who had such a well-protected mind, it was downright terrifying, to have his thoughts and memories so quickly dissected. His life had flashed before his eyes—she hadn't even batted an eyelash.

Viviane again turned her attention to Dumbledore.

“Since you have no intention of following instructions, perhaps, then you might explain to me a few things—do not invade his mind again!”

Dumbledore suddenly found himself flying across the room to be planted in front of Viviane, who seemed to tower over him in all her terrifying glory.

“Let us just put a few notions to bed, Albus Dumbledore. You are only human, and only mortal. You are no better than any person in this room. You were given a gift, and instead of using it to cause positive change in the world, you have only used it to garner power for yourself. Tell me, headmaster, how is aunt Viviane doing?”

Now, Dumbledore blanched. The  _Lady of the Lake_ . How?!

Easily picking up his thought train, Viviane answered, “Your former protege has been brought to my care and tutelage, since you have failed to provide such tutoring here.

“What result did you expect, leaving a young wizard in the care of a family that would despise him for what he is?”

“It was the only—“

“ _Lies_!” Viviane spat, “You had plenty of choice, and yet, you instead put him in a place such that he would grow up unloved, nu-nurtured, and alone. This, from someone who so many believe is the 'leader of the light'.”

“I only do—”

“What is best for _Albus Dumbledore_ ,” Viviane finished, coldly.

“I take exception, your grace,” McGonagall tried.

“You do not see his mind as I do, Professor. He only plots for himself, not caring of the damage he does, not caring about the casualties. The light needs a new leader, or your world is doomed. The result cannot be more clear.”

“Err... excuse me,” said Neville, finally mustering up the courage, “But... who are you?”

“I am Viviane.”

“The Lady of the Lake.”

Even concerned about Rasalas, Hermione gave a curtsey out of respect.

“Kreacher, young friend. If you would carry Rasalas and I back to my chambers at Avalon, so we might begin treating his injuries.”

“At once, High Priestess,” said Kreacher, with a deep bow. He then grabbed Rasalas' arm, then offered a hand to the Lady of the Lake. Nothing was said of Brady, who had placed a hand on Rasalas' shoulder. They vanished with a noisy _pop_.

“I must ask—“

Dumbledore found more than a few wands pointed in his direction.

“Word of this is even breathed to anyone beyond this room, we'll see you ruined,” Bill growled, “Rasalas has enough problems right now without your meddling, headmaster.”

Kreacher returned moments later, with instructions to collect Ryan, Aaron, Bill, Ron, and Hermione.

“I do not give permission—“ Dumbledore began.

“Fuck off,” said Aaron, while Ryan made a rude gesture with a free hand. The group all popped away.

Dumbledore simply stared at the spot they'd just left from.

“Most dreadful behaviour,” said Madam Pomfrey.

Snape, meanwhile, kept his opinion to himself. Gibson, Sawyer, and  Watson , if he'd got the names correct. The Sawyer boy was more than adept at protecting his thoughts, with Gibson being not so... though he most certainly had an organized mind, and the beginnings of Occlumency. He was magical, most definitely, though, his method of control was very different. Of course, his training was likely through the powerful woman who'd just left. The other, meanwhile... he was a squib at best. Definitely the more abrasive of the pair, and perhaps the more confrontational of the two. He would be volatile with whatever magic he might muster.

“I have a few matters to mull over,” he said, and excused himself.

Perhaps, a letter needed to be sent to Black... maybe wipe the slate clean. Perhaps he might access training also—though the Lady of the Lake would likely force him to make nice with Black...

Snape mentally sighed. Maybe it would be worth it. The boy did have his mother's eyes. And sometimes, if he really did admit, the boy did remind him of his mother.

* * *

All in all, it had taken less than fifteen minutes, from their rushed arrival in the Hogwarts infirmary, to their arrival at the stone circle, in Avalon. Viviane, along with Morgaine and a few others, were already surrounding Rasalas' body with herbs, and smearing a strong-smelling oil on his forehead. Brady wouldn't leave his side, so the priestesses simply worked around him.

“It is a cleansing ritual,” Morgaine explained as they worked, “It will help him drive the dark magic from his body.”

“ALL of the dark magic?”

“Enough for him to recover. There are limits, as I believe your professors have explained to you, am I correct?”

“Of course,” answered Hermione.

She kept her awe of the place in check, more concerned for her first friend in the Wizarding world. Ron stood close by, daring to clasp her hand in his.

“This will, as I said, negate some of the effects, and give his body a chance to heal. More than likely, he'll completely negate the curse-magic himself.”

“How long will it take?”

“Only the Goddess knows for sure, child,” answered Viviane, looking up, “All of us must have faith in her, and all she is.”

“Ma believes. And sh-sh-she says I was special b-because I was b-b-born on Samhain.”

“You are truly blessed, Ryan. The new year, the signal of new beginnings,” said Morgaine, with a nod.

“Y-yeah, that's w-w-w-what Ma says. 'course, Aaron's b-b-birthday is Beltane."

“The Great Marriage. Your union will bring you great things, young Ryan and young Aaron,” said Viviane, seriously, then, “We are ready.”

For nearly twenty minutes, the small group of priestesses encircled the young wizard, chanting a long passage that came from only memory. At several occasions during the ritual, Viviane touched Rasalas on the forehead, causing a dark vapour to escape from him. It culminated in a much larger cloud of dark essence to escape, and dissipate into the air. For the duration, the rest of the group could only stand there and watch… and hope.

* * *

It just so happened, that fourteen hundred years into the future, a certain Dark Lord was meeting with his inner circle, save for one. The pain came out of left field, and quite literally caused him to collapse. It was as if the torture curse several times over had been cast on him. It took every bit of strength and fortitude for him not to lose consciousness.

"My… my Lord?" Avery dared ask, as the pain began to subside. Voldemort's crimson eyes flashed dangerously, as he hissed, "Potter."

* * *

At last, Viviane declared, “It is all we can do now. Let us return him to his bedchamber so he may recover.”

“Kreacher?” Bill again called. The elf appeared virtually instantly.

“Weasley boy call for Kreacher?”

“Could you take Rasalas and I back to the sanctuary? Actually, bring as many of us as you can.”

Kreacher simply grabbed onto Rasalas' pant leg, and offered the other hand.

They all landed in Rasalas' room in the sanctuary. Rasalas was placed in his bed with the snap of the elf's fingers. Brady shed his jacket, and lay down beside him.

“He's to remain in bed until I say otherwise,” said Viviane.

“What... what happened?” Arthur had heard them arrive, and now stood framing the doorway.

“You r-r-remember the m-m-memories he's shared with us, r-r-right? About the crazy sh-sh-shit that happened to him when he went to s-s-s-school?”

Arthur gave a nod.

“We went to the Three Broomsticks,” said Aaron, “Really cool place with lots of wizard stuff going on… but… this blonde-haired jackass Ras' mentioned before… he goes slinkin' into the toilet with a package, and comes out without it. Ras went in to check it out, next thing we know there's a God-awful scream.

“Long story short, there was a deadly curse put on it. Speaking of which, I need to bring his solicitor up to date on this, so she's aware,” said Bill.

“If it were not my place to interfere, I would see the person responsible be left bereft of their magical gifts,” said Viviane. “As it stands, I cannot.”

Bill gave a nasty smile.

“Rasalas is now a Canadian citizen, and has a very good solicitor. For Mr. Malfoy to escape from criminal charges, would equate to a snowball's chance in hell.”

Arthur again gave a nod. That brought everything into perfect clarity.

“This... Malfoy... still sounds unfamiliar. Though, we could, if we do encounter—“

“No. You can't,” said Hermione, “Doing so would have disastrous consequences!”

Arthur huffed, but knew Hermione was right. It wasn't his place to interfere.

“If we are to hold conversation, perhaps we might retreat to the outer room. I think this impolite,” said Accolon.

Following his advice, the group retreated to the outer room, and occupied the various couches and chairs. Bill, meanwhile, stepped over to the fireplace. He picked up a pinch of floo powder, tossed it in the fire, and called out, “Office of Lewis, Wells, Gill & Fletcher!” He then stuck his head in the green flames.

“Still f-f-f-floored this happened,” said Ryan, “By the Goddess, he wasn't kidding.”

“Total magnet for trouble,” said Ron, “Been that way since we were in first year.”

“This event has me troubled as well,” said Accolon, “The healer said the curse was tapping his core. I then decided we needed the opinion of Viviane and your sister, sire.”

“Well done, Accolon. You may have saved our young friend's life. For how long will he sleep?”

“Until tomorrow, when we will reassess his condition.”

Viviane now stood at the arch way that separated the corridor from the main room, still looking severe.

“Morgaine will remain here, but I will return tomorrow.”

“Th-th-thank you for your help, your grace,” said Ryan, with a bow of the head.

“Most unfortunate this has taken place. Everyone's training is now put on hold because of this. Rasalas must be strong in order for him to participate.”

“We'll keep him at rest,” said Hermione.

“But don't you guys have school?”

“Aaron, our first worry has always been Harry—or Rasalas. It's no different than him being bedridden in the hospital wing.”

“Do not allow your education to suffer,” said Arthur.

“Harry—Rasalas is my best mate, always will be,” said Ron, “We're gonna be here when he wakes up.”

“With lots of rest, he'll be on his feet in no time,” said Viviane. She simply faded out of view.

It was at that time that Bill pulled his head back out of the fire, and stepped aside. The flames then roared up a brilliant green, and a witch dressed in a sharp business suit stepped out of it, a thick portfolio slung over her shoulder by a strap.

“Kate,” said Bill, simply. “Let's take this into the dining room so we can use the table.”

Kate simply glanced at the strangers in the room, but followed Bill into the dining room. She took a seat at the table, and pulled out a pad of paper from her portfolio.

“Now what happened?”

“Rasalas w-w-w-was almost k-k-killed today,” Ryan answered.

Kate almost dropped the pen.

“I want pensieve memories from all of you who were present, from the beginning to the time I was summoned. Where is he now?”

“Sleeping soundly. Morgaine is tending to him for now,” answered Aaron.

“Brady's in w-w-w-with him. Won't l-l-l-l-leave his side s-since the hospital w-w-w-wing.”

“First, a detailed summary of what happened. Who was there, what did you see, and so on.”

“But... what can you do about it? You're a Canadian solicitor, right?” asked Ron.

“As is your friend now a Canadian citizen,” said Kate, “Let's put it in non-magical terms. A Canadian is visiting London, and is attacked by several individuals, and severely injured. What would happen if English authorities did nothing?”

“I... I don't know.”

“Come on, Ron!” Hermione admonished him, “The Canadian government would be furious and demand action!”

“Exactly, Miss Granger. It works exactly the same way in the magical world. With your testimony here, I'll approach the Canadian DMLE, and have them put pressure on the English counterpart to prosecute the person responsible. Who is the person responsible?”

“Draco Malfoy,” Ron practically spat.

“I see. A repeat offender with regard to incidents involving your group.”

“Yeah... slimy snake, he's always getting away with stuff.”

“Viviane wanted to strip him of his magic,” said Aaron, “But... is that even possible?”

“It is very possible. It's sometimes dealt out as a punishment Let's see your memories, so I might get things rolling with the Canadian ministry.”

The pensieve memories she collected weren't all that lengthy, since no one had seen the actual attack. It would be up to Rasalas to provide that. The confrontation between Viviane and the headmaster had been rather amusing, if Kate was willing to admit... always something larger up the food chain, and all that. It was a shame that Viviane couldn't actually do something in the case of Dumbledore.

The conversation seemed to dissolve after that, with Kate returning to her office through the floo. Bill tried to engage his younger brother in a game of chess, but neither of them were really into it. Dinner too, passed in a haze, as a funeral-like atmosphere settled over the sanctuary. They all knew Rasalas was still alive, but everything just felt… wrong.

Arthur had quickly retreated to Rasalas' room, to lie down beside Rasalas.

“Brady...”

“Hmm?”

“You must promise me something.”

“That is?”

“Take my place at his side, should something happen to me. I know not if your heart already belongs to someone else... but I see your bond. Something that... no matter how much he will love me, he will always love you first.”

“So what're 'ya askin'?”

“In my stead, give him your all, young knight. His heart will ache without me.”

“But...”

“You fear others' perception of such a union.”

“I ain't—”

“Your heart says otherwise. Just as I have loved Gwen, just as I would never deny her, I will never deny Rasalas. The Goddess, or God, if you like... they both work in wonderful, and sometimes terrifying ways. Do you not agree?”

“Yeah, i guess,” Brady answered, uncomfortably. He let out a huff. “Y'know, sometimes I wish we didn' stop back in September a year ago. All this bullshit... mom and my brother... my life all fucked up... none of this would've happened.”

“You miss the life you had.”

“Yeah.”

“There is no fault in you feeling such things. You and I both know, however, that things can never return to as they were. Perhaps, you may see a part of your old life return to you, but not all of it.”

Brady could only slowly nod. No matter how he thought of it, Arthur was absolutely right. By becoming a part of Rasalas' life, he invited all of the baggage that went along with it. That included the very deadly threat Voldemort and his Death Eaters represented. And his feelings for Rasalas... that was complicated, never mind Arthur's very uncomfortable request.

But quite honestly... there had been a number of times he'd felt a surge of jealousy, seeing how close Rasalas and Arthur were becoming. Some part of him, deep inside, raging, 'that should be me!'. So what was it then? Why did he feel such as he did? What did he really want? Perhaps most importantly, did he really want answers to those questions? Secondly, he realized, it was very likely he would have to face up to those questions. Their time at Camelot and Avalon was finite. All of them were in agreement on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas continues to recover from the attack; Rasalas and a few others join Ryan and his parents for Samhain celebrations; and Rasalas tries out his spiritual projection technique to visit Voldemort... while intoxicated. Wheeee!_


	33. Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas continues to recover from the attack; Rasalas and a few others join Ryan and his parents for Samhain celebrations; and Rasalas tries out his spiritual projection technique to visit Voldemort... while intoxicated. Wheeee!_

**216\. SAMHAIN  
October / November, 2006**

> “ _I love the spirit of Halloween and the energy that comes with it.”_

  
_\- Katharine McPhee_   


* * *

For interim, everyone took turns staying with Rasalas, waiting for any sign of him waking up. It was Hermione's idea, but everyone was in agreement: waking up alone was just not a good thing. Fawkes, of course, did not help matters, as he himself looked absolutely dreadful, better resembling a half-plucked turkey, rather than the majestic bird he was. Hermione quickly understood his problem, and had Bill conjure up an appropriate perch, one which would properly catch the ashes.

“Is… is his bird about to die?” Accolon dared ask.

“No. He's nearing his burning day,” Bill explained.

Accolon, Arthur, and Lancelot each looked horrified, while Brady looked unsettled. By this point, he was beyond the point of being truly surprised by things in the magical world.

“And this is… a normal occurrence?”

“Every so often, yes. He will… suddenly burst into flames, only to be reborn from the ashes, and the cycle begins again.”

“How come I ain't seen 'im do it yet?” Brady wondered.

“I think he went through a burning day back in the spring, but you were busy at your mum's,” said Bill, “But remember how small he was for a while?”

“Oh.”

“Could… Rasalas' condition have… caused this?” Arthur asked.

“I don't know. Quite possible, but I'm no expert. Hagrid might know.”

For a day and a half, there was no change, other than Fawkes looking worse by the hour, periodically making strange gagging noises. It so happened Arthur was with Rasalas when the inevitable occurred. The bird simply caught fire, becoming a blazing fireball, before letting out a horrible shriek. The next second, all that remained, was a large pile of ashes at the bottom of his perch. Arthur quite literally fell out of his chair, to bang his head on one of its legs. He cursed under his breath at the creature, and climbed back into his seat.

“What—what was that?” Ryan asked, now standing in the doorway, “D-d-did... _oh_.”

Now, he noticed the pile of ashes in the tray of the perch.

It was then they were greeted by another sound, as Rasalas let out a parched sigh, and attempted to sit up.

“Do stay still, young wizard. You have been seriously injured,” said Arthur placing a hand on Rasalas' chest, gently restraining him.

Rasalas rubbed at his eyes. “I… water, please. D… Dobby?” he said, hoarsely.

_Pop_. “Dobby hears sir Razzy calling and Dobby comes! Dobby is worrying about Razzy, he not being able to eat nearly two days now!”

“Dobby… please… just… some water, okay?”

“Dobby is getting sir Razzy water right away!” He popped away.

Dobby returned it seemed only seconds later, bringing a pitcher of water and a glass. Setting the pitcher on the table, he quickly poured out a glass, and handed it to Rasalas.

“Thank you, Dobby.”

The elf nodded vigorously, and popped away, while Rasalas quickly downed the glass, then poured another. It was then Accolon entered, and instantly looked relieved, seeing his young friend awake. Brady entered almost immediately after, also looking relieved. He said nothing, but stood close to Arthur.

“No liquids for nearly two days… not a good thing,” Rasalas muttered, “Last thing I remember is that package… did Bill get it?”

“Some guy named Snape has it,” said Brady, “'an the man's got an attitude problem.”

“Oh. You've all met Professor Snape then.”

“W-w-what's his problem anyway?” Ryan wanted to know.

“I still don't know. But asking him is a bit problematic, now, isn't it?” Rasalas muttered.

“Your… solicitor was in to visit twice. She is working to see your nemesis face some sort of consequences for this incident,” said Accolon.

“Good luck with that,” Rasalas snorted, at last slowly sitting up.

He snatched up the second pillow, and stuck it behind him, and was then able to face his new friends.

“Sorry about all this.”

“What is there to be sorry for, Rasalas? You could not have known what would happen. You only wished to perhaps visit with your friends, your peers. If that is a crime, may the Goddess help us all,” said Accolon, shaking his head.

“Right. Time I got out of bed—”

“Not yet you don't,” said Arthur, firmly, “You may still not be well enough to be moving about.”

“Arthur… I'm fine.”

“Young wizard, you will get more rest. That's a King's order.”

“All right, fine, I surrender,” said Rasalas, letting out a sigh, and then smirked, “Probably don’t want to defy that one.”

“Rasalas!” Hermione burst into the room, relief filling her eyes, seeing her first friend at last awake.

“I'm fine, Hermione, although I'm still bound to a bed.”

“Yes, and you better stay there! We'll send for Morgaine and Viviane, they should see you.”

“What for?”

“Had it not been for the assistance of Avalon, you may have died, young wizard,” answered Accolon.

“So glad you're okay, Rasalas… we've been so worried.”

“No doubt there… and thanks for looking out for me.”

“We wouldn't have it any other way,” said Hermione.

“ _Preep_!”

Fawkes at last made his presence known, and Rasalas had to grin, knowing he'd just gone through a burning day.

“He burned in front of you, didn't he?”

“He was looking dreadful for the past couple of days,” said Hermione, “Bill conjured the perch for him so it would catch the ashes.”

“I think Dumbledore used to have a really ornate perch for him… wonder if I could talk him into loaning it to me... permanently.”

That had Brady smirking.

“ _Preep_!”

“Scared the death out of me, I think,” Arthur muttered.

Just then, Dobby reappeared with a noisy pop, bringing with him a tray of food, enough to feed the sanctuary several times over. Rasalas slid over to make room for Dobby to set the tray down.

“Razzy must eat now, and so must his friends!”

“Thanks, Dobby. This is great, but I don't know how much I'll manage.”

Dobby only gave an enthusiastic nod, and popped away.

“But Ras, you really must eat—more than that!” Hermione scowled, seeing him pluck a single strip of bacon, and a half-slice of toast off the platter.

“All right, all right, fine. Well… help yourselves!”

* * *

Compared with the past month, the next couple of weeks seemed to pass with agonizing slowness. For the first few days, Rasalas pretty much remained in bed, save for visits to the bathroom. Then, as he found himself needing less and less sleep, he began to resume mental exercises, sending Dobby back to Avalon for the tome he had been studying.

While the others went to Avalon, Brady tended to stay with Rasalas, switching between working on his songwriting, or working with Rasalas, doing mental exercises. Rasalas had taken to teaching him Occlumency, since it was clear he could adopt the practice. Brady simply powered his spells in a different way, but magic was magic... including the mind arts.

Four days after the incident, he had Bill summon Kate, and he gave her his own memory of the event. Being compelled to touch the object most certainly did not interfere with his memory. That would be useful to the DMLE, as they would be able to understand the incident from the victim's point of view. The Canadian ministry was up in arms as it was, that such a disturbing incident took place against one of its citizens. According to Kate, the Department of International Cooperation was putting a lot of pressure on the English ministry to lay charges against Draco.

“Thing is,” Rasalas said, later that evening, as they were gathered in the common room, “Their track record for keeping people in prison is sketch as it is... never mind the level of corruption. You guys know this. I'll be very surprised if they actually arrest him.”

He thought for a moment.

“Ron, Hermione, Ginny. You guys need to get back to Hogwarts. I'm touched you wanted to be here and be sure I was okay. But you're missing out on class time, and that's important. And quite honestly, I'd rather not get a howler from Mrs. Weasley.”

Ron visually shivered.

“But...”

“Hermione. Please. Don't mess up your year on the count of me.”

“You'll all be coming to stay here with us as it is,” said Bill, “That's only a few weeks away.”

Very early the following morning, Rasalas was up to see his school friends once again return to Hogwarts. Bill produced his wand. “Expecto Patronum,” he intoned, and to the silvery swirling mass that formed, he spoke, “Professor McGonagall, returning my siblings and Miss Granger to the school. Where should the port key carry them?” He paused. “To Professor McGonagall.”

The swirling mass shot off through the doorway to the Sawyers'.

“How... how do you do it?”

“The Patronus charm? I thought—”

“Yeah, I know how to cast it. But not to use it as a message.”

“You just speak to it, and tell it who it's going to. The magic does the rest,” Bill explained.

“Oh. That's brilliant.”

“The Order uses it now and then.”

Seconds later, a ghostly cat came bounding through the door into the Sawyers'.

“ _I will expect them in the entry hall_ ,” came the answer, in McGonagall's voice. It then vanished.

“Rasalas. I'll need permission to create a port key,” said Bill.

“Right.” Rasalas closed his eyes a moment. “Go ahead.”

Bill reached into one of his pockets, and produced an old tin can. He tapped it with his wand, saying, “Portus,” causing it to shimmer blue a moment, before falling still.

“All right. Gather around.”

“See you at Christmas, Rasalas,” said Hermione, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Yeah, see 'ya at Christmas, mate,” said Ron. Then, they were gone.

* * *

_October 31_

Just as breakfast finished up, the gathered group heard the flames in the fireplace roar up, and seconds later, Kate framed the doorway to the dining room.

“Good day to you, Miss Lewis,” said Arthur.

“Your majesty, everyone,” Kate greeted. “Happy birthday, Mr. Sawyer.”

“Thank you,” said Ryan. A number of opened presents were collected around his place at the table, one of which looked to be a shortsword. No surprise, really, considering their present company.

“Is this a good visit, or a bad one?” asked Rasalas.

“Good news. English Aurors visited Hogwarts at lunch time—about two hours ago, and placed Draco Malfoy under arrest. He's currently sitting in a ministry holding cell awaiting trial.”

“Excellent,” said Rasalas, with a smirk.

“Though they will be able to prosecute without actual testimony, it would help things if those of you who had witnessed the incident were present—Sir Accolon excluded, given the circumstances.”

“Yes, my presence might cause some unwanted attention and scrutiny,” the young knight agreed.

Rasalas, meanwhile, thought for a moment.

“What's been the reaction of Hogwarts?”

“No word yet. Logically, the school should expel him outright, if not suspend him until he answers to the charges.”

Rasalas let out a snort. “Given Dumbledore's track record? Not bloody likely. 'Oh, it's okay, Draco, you didn't  _really_ mean to try and kill him, we'll give you a second chance'. What  _tripe_ ... makes me want to vomit.”

“Perhaps then, you might form an alternate plan to deal with this threat in your own way,” said Accolon.

“Trust me, I'm thinking on that. No matter.” He turned back to Kate. “Thanks for the news.”

Being tied up with the weekend's steam event and the concerts last year, Rasalas hadn't really experienced Halloween—or Samhain, at the Sawyers. So, for the first time in quite some time, the group spent most of the day at the Sawyers' place.

Samhain/Halloween was one of a few rather important religious days at the Sawyers. A small table beside the fireplace now held a few loaves of dark bread—rye and pumpernickel, as well as a pumpkin and a squash. These things all rested on a bed of dried maple leaves. A jug of wine had also been provided, courtesy of Arthur. Rasalas knew by now, that this was their altar, a shrine to the Goddess. A statue representing the deity rested at the back of it. A few old photos graced the forefront of it—family who had passed on.

The fire in the fireplace had been extinguished during the morning, and Casey normally would have been spending hours cleaning the house—but found nothing to clean, thanks to Dobby. Since his arrival back during the summer, the house had been rendered spotless. The windows had also been thrown open for an hour or so, letting the crisp autumn air flow through the house and air things out before everything was shut up for the winter.

Knowing the Sawyers were going to celebrate Samhain, Morgaine had approached Casey and asked for permission to attend. Casey was thrilled, and somewhat intimidated, considering a real priestess of the holy isle would be attending the ritual.

The evening meal was somewhat out of the ordinary, as castle servants had sent a flank of deer to be served. Casey was deeply touched by the gesture. Dobby, though, had no trouble coming up with an appropriate recipe, using the kitchen back in the sanctuary to prepare it.

It looked like there was one more place set at the table than those attending, and at first, Rasalas was confused, until Ryan explained, “We s-s-set out a place for the s-s-spirit of our ancestors.” The meal itself was exquisite, but honestly, just about anything Ryan's mother came up with tended to be pretty good.

With the meal finished, and the scraps tossed out onto the lawn for the birds, the gathering then moved outside, to a large pile of wood set up on the pad where the pool had been during the summer. Not far from the deck, a wrought iron table was set up, with a few acorns, nuts, and two candles—one white, and one black.

The temperature had dropped rather sharply, now hovering only a few degrees above freezing. Rasalas had gone with his leather jacket once again—it had been getting a lot of wear as of late, at least any time they were outside in the present. Brady, too, had gone with his leather, with a heavy hooded jumper under it. Ryan had thrown on a heavy zip-up jumper, along with a burgundy-coloured zip-up jacket... a bomber jacket, if Rasalas remembered correctly. Aaron, meanwhile, went with a heavy jumper, as well as a hockey jersey. Right. A local junior hockey team—the  _Oshawa Generals_ .

Phil reached into the pockets of his jacket, and produced the flint stone and striker, the same items used to light the bonfire back in May.

“Arthur. Being one of the most important guests present, I'll let you do the honours of lighting our bonfire.”

Rasalas wondered why this wouldn't be Morgaine—she was the priestess, right?

As if sensing his question, Morgaine said, “I may be a priestess of the holy isle, but this is not my ritual, we are simply guests of theirs.”

“Oh.”

Arthur clearly knew how to use the flint and steel, as he took only a minute or so to ignite the tinder at the base of the pile of wood.

Casey, meanwhile, was handing out pieces of coloured wool yarn—red, white, and black—to each participant.

“Just hold on them,” said Ryan, “W-w-we'll need them shortly. Now spread out in a c-c-circle, around the fire.”

Casey, meanwhile, collected a sprig of rosemary off of the table. When everyone was spaced around the fire, she began:

“Rosemary is for remembrance, and tonight we remember those who have lived and died before us, those who have crossed through the veil, those who are no longer with us. We will remember. As this passes your hand, think back and remember friends and loved ones who are no longer with you.”

She then passed it to Phil. He held it a moment, before passing it to Ryan, who then passed it to Aaron. It then went to Rasalas, Brady, Morgaine, Arthur, and finally, Lancelot. He then passed it to Casey, who placed it back on the secondary, temporary altar. The rest of the gathering, with an indication from Ryan, gathered around her, as she lit the black candle.

“The Wheel of the Year turns once more, and we cycle into darkness.”

She then lit the white candle.

“At the end of that darkness comes light. And when it arrives, we will celebrate once more.”

Ryan pulled out the pieces of yarn. “Everyone have y-y-your pieces of wool?”

It took a few moments for everyone to produce them.

Casey spoke, “White for life, black for death, red for rebirth. We bind these strands together remembering those we have lost.”

“While you knot your threads together, it's about r-r-remembering people that are gone,” said Ryan, “My grand-da, grandma, they s-s-still watch over us, see. They n-never truly leave us.”

“My mother and father,” said Phil.

“My little sister Carla,” said Aaron.

“My fathers, one by blood, the other by marriage,” said Morgaine, “Uther and Gorlois.”

“Uther,” said Arthur, “My father.”

“Friends, too many to name,” said Lancelot, “But all their faces are still fresh in my mind.”

“My godfather,” said Rasalas, quietly.

“Grandpa, an' my dad,” Brady whispered.

It was at that time that the fire seemed to flare up a moment, and one would have to be totally immune to the sixth sense to not feel the surge of energy that rippled out from it. Morgaine pressed her hands together and pressed her thumbs to her forehead, and bowed to the fire.

She rose, saying, “The Goddess welcomes your offering, Madam Sawyer. Know that your home and your hearth are once again blessed by her spirit and energy.”

Casey bowed to Morgaine. “We're honoured and touched by her presence, lady Morgaine.”

They remained at the fire for another hour, before Phil collected another stick prepped with small twigs and grass at one end, and lit it from the bonfire.

“Morgaine, being a guest, we would have you relight our fireplace with the flame from our bonfire.”

“It would be my honour.”

The gathering then retreated to the sanctuary, where Dobby and Kreacher had put out warm refreshments: hot apple cider, pumpkin pie, coffee and tea. Brady, meanwhile, went to check in with his brother and his mother—though invited, Betty had declined, and Corey decided to keep his mother company.

“Thank you for having us,” said Lancelot, as they all took up seats in front of the fireplace.

“Oh, it was no bother. Thank you all for coming. It's been some time since I've had quite that number during either Samhain or Beltane, for that matter,” said Casey, beaming.

“Then we must attend!” said Arthur, “With perhaps others, if you will permit.”

“Entire villages celebrate Beltane,” said Ryan, “B-but you already know that.”

“The priests don't like it,” said Morgaine.

“The priests can all go to...” Aaron quickly shut up, realizing Ryan's mother was still present. That still got an amused look from Arthur, as he had a pretty good idea what Aaron was about to say.

So did Casey, and she gave the boy a glare.

“I might have thought it, but I didn't say it,” Aaron smirked.

“It's nothing we've not heard before, my lady,” said Arthur.

“It's not polite.”

“And they are no longer children.”

Casey rolled her eyes, but chose to let the matter drop. No sense in arguing with the legendary King Arthur.

“I think the ritual was stronger than the one held at Beltane,” said Rasalas, “The energy was stronger.”

“Of course it was,” said Morgaine, “There were many participants.”

“I can only imagine what it would look like, with an entire village participating,” said Aaron, “I think it would be epic.”

“And yet, as people continue to distance themselves from the old religion, such rituals are becoming less and less powerful,” said Arthur.

“And the entire land falls out of balance because of it,” said Casey, “People now have no respect for nature, no time for the Goddess—or God, for that matter. The real shame of it, is that so many out there have no hope, nothing to believe in.”

“Yeah, 'an the church doesn't help things, with the crap that goes on all the time. You hear about embezzlement schemes, priests being accused of abusing altar boys, like what the hell?!” Aaron said, sounding frustrated, “Christianity isn't bad... but there are so many idiots that spoil it for others, mess with peoples' faith, y'know?”

“What is an altar boy?” Arthur wanted to know.

“Uh... they help the clergy during a church service,” Aaron explained, “But... no I really don't wanna get into the shit that's going on with them, it's ugly. One of the reasons I don't go to church.”

It was then Brady returned, and claimed the spot on the couch beside Rasalas. Noticing the discomfort in the room, he asked, “What's goin' on?”

“Young Aaron was explaining the fallacy of the Christian church,” said Accolon.

“Fallacy all right,” Aaron muttered, “The church has too much power, that's my thought. So busy 'fundraising' and other crap, they forget one little thing: the message.

“I mean... what was it... a few years ago, this top aide from the White House goes on T.V., and he says... see if I can get this right... ' _the God you pray to is too busy being indicted for tax fraud_ '.”

“Mary Marsh,” Brady remembered, “She went 'an flipped out on that shit.”

Rasalas couldn't help but burst out laughing. “Wow. Talk about inflammatory. Did this 'top aide' keep his job after such a comment?”

“Yeah. Still works at the White House, far as I know,” said Brady.(1)

“And I think we should move on. The ritual tonight was amazing,” said Rasalas, recomposing himself. He glanced at Brady. “Your mum's all right?”

“Yeah. Mom ain't a big fan of Halloween, 'an Corey's keepin' 'er company.”

“He's gonna join us in a while?”

“Yeah, prob'ly.” 

He reached into the ice chest on the table between them, and snatched up a bottle of beer. He popped the top, and took a drink.

“Your... ritual earlier... 'an for a bit after... felt like people around we couldn't see.”

Casey smiled, and said, “Very likely your father and your grandfather stood at your side, if only briefly tonight.”

“As did my own father,” said Arthur.

“Samhain is about remembrance,” said Morgaine, “Also the day when it is easiest to talk to those who have passed on, for them to, at least for a time, stand at our side.”

“B-b-but they never really leave us. G-g-grandma and grand-da, they l-l-l-l-live on in my heart. Today's the day to honour them.”

“Spot-on, Ryan,” said Morgaine, “Each of you have been touched by the Goddess today, just as you were also touched by those you called out to at the bonfire tonight. Cherish those moments, knowing you are blessed.”

Phil raised his mug. “To friends and loved ones passed. That they always be remembered.”

Mugs and bottles clinked together.

The evening grew late, and their number began to dwindle. Both Phil and Casey departed first, needing to be up in the morning. They wished their son one more `happy birthday`, before leaving through the door to Ryan’s room. Then Morgaine said her good-nights, heading back into the castle through the door to Arthur’s private chambers.

Then, their numbers increased by one, as Corey entered the sanctuary. Brady made eye-contact. “Mom's gone to bed?”

“Yeah. Jus' a while ago. She ain't happy.”

Brady looked guilty. “Gon' need to have a talk, I guess. Corey. Dad 'an grandpa were with me at the bonfire.”

“You're shittin' me.”

“God strike me down if I ain't tellin' the truth.”

Corey sat down in the chair that had been vacated by Morgaine, and collected a bottle from the ice chest.

“Next year, if we're still here, I'm comin'.”

“Y-y-y-you and your mother would be welcome,” said Ryan. “I think Ma l-l-l-l-liked all the people there tonight. It was awesome. Did you feel the s-s-s-surge of energy earlier?”

“Yeah, 'course.”

“It was the power of the Goddess,” said Arthur, “I would guess everything within a mile would have been touched by it.”

“I can only imagine what it would be like, an entire village participating,” said Rasalas. “The energies would overlap.”

“And think then, of how chaotic and unstable your world has become,” said Accolon, “Without such powerful, healing rituals to touch the village and those who dwell in it... how is it your world continues to survive?”

That drew a snort from Aaron. “A question I'd love to know the answer to. Quite honestly I'm surprised we haven't blown ourselves all to hell by now.”

“But surely...” Arthur began.

“Oh hell yeah, we could do it,” said Brady, a dark look crossing his face. “Believe me, it's possible.”

“Insanely powerful weapons,” said Aaron, “Capable of destroying entire cities all at once. And never mind what it does to the environment after. Places where they've been used, they stay toxic, poisonous for decades after.”

Accolon, Arthur, and Lancelot all looked horrified by the implications.

“The Goddess likely wept with their use. Such things... they would damage the earth itself,” said Arthur. “That not taking into account the vast number killed... knowing the size of your cities now.”

“It's one th-thing we're good at. F-f-f-finding new ways to d-d-destroy ourselves. I think... if the Goddess didn't l-l-love us as she loves all things... w-w-we would have been destroyed a long time ago.”

Rasalas let out a sigh. “Can we talk about something else? Seems all we do, is talk about fighting, and wars, other such rubbish.”

He reached into his pouch, and pulled out the bottle of Screech Ryan and Aaron had given him for his birthday. It was half-gone.

“Care for a shot?”

Next thing, it was going on 5 am. The bottle was long-gone, and Rasalas was in no condition to make it back to his bed. Both Arthur and Brady, who were in not much better shape, ended up practically carrying him into the bedroom.

“N-no boots,” Rasalas muttered, as they all flopped down on the enlarged bed.

“'an you're breakin' your own rule,” Brady smirked.

“'s my bed.”

“Sir knight, get some rest, king's order.”

“Both of you beside me I will.” Arthur found himself pulled close to the young wizard. “Gwen doesn't know what she's losing, y'know.”

“She does not, I agree. But... kingdom needs an heir, sir Ras.”

“Then we'll get a surrogate. Long's it's your blood and your seed.”

“'nough talk 'bout your seed,” Brady muttered. Rasalas, though, could guess the guy was smirking as he said it. 

In the alcoholic haze, Rasalas felt warm (well, that could also be because he still wore his heavy jacket, never mind being pinned between two bodies), comfortable, safe. He could hear the others speaking to each other softly, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere.  _Sleep. Lovely sleep. No, relax, sleep later. Visit. Visit who? I know,_ he giggled in his head, _Snake face! Yes, visit Voldemort and his lovely Nagini! Let's see if he wants some tea and biscuits..._

His training in spiritual projection had been most productive as of late. Being calm and focused had been the most important thing, realizing that the projection required complete, absolute focus. Being calm and comfortable also tended to work wonders as far as success went. That had proven to be the breakthrough he needed.

Doing something this delicate while intoxicated, meanwhile? Perhaps not the most sound idea. That was neither here nor there, as he slipped into his mental centre, and began to focus on the intended target. Given the number of encounters and the emotional connection with Tom Riddle, this was pretty easy.

* * *

As it so happened, Voldemort was meeting with his inner circle at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. Though Lucius might have been incarcerated at Azkaban, the Malfoy money was still in play, and the property played host to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.

“Draco is now in a holding cell at the ministry,” said Narcissa, “The old fool is already lining up a law wizard, though I am perfectly capable.”

“Ah, Narcissa, we know how the old man likes to insert his nose where it doesn't belong,” said Yaxley, a blond-haired man with hard features, seated further down the table.

“Thing to remember, Madam Malfoy, it does mean it's not your money being put up for the boy's defence,” said Nott, Sr., “However, it is distressing young Draco could not follow simple instructions. No different than his useless father. Both of them now locked away by the ministry.”

“Yes, Nott does raise a rather important point,” Voldemort at last spoke, as he stroked the head of his familiar. “The Malfoy name has once again failed me in such simple tasks, simple assignments—“

“ _Heh_ , you're right, they were rather pathetic,” came a slurred voice.

Every head in the room swivelled to find a shade of Harry Potter standing at the opposite side of the room. Rasalas had decided to go with the perceived projection, rather than what he currently looked like, just so people would know who he was.

“Oh, hello. Didn't realize there was a - _hic_ \- meeting going on.”

Every wand was now pointed at him. Harry simply smiled, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“D'you like it? I made it myself!”

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA_!” Voldemort snarled.

The green bolt of magic went through the shade, to impact with the far wall, blasting chunks of stone from it.

“Might not wanna do that too much, you might bring the house down,” Harry smirked.

“What are you?!” Crabbe Sr. demanded.

“A figment of your imagination, perhaps? A ghost? Maybe I died, now just floating around—“

He strode through the table, to stand in front of the man, and poked a finger right through his chest and out the back. Crabbe gasped, feeling the cold blast, identical to when a real ghost did something similar.

“'course, I can also do this!”

He dragged his hand back out, and the man almost collapsed in shock, feeling painful heat from the boy's hand.

“Ah, the possibilities...”

“ _REDUCTO_!” Voldemort tried.

The blast of red magic sailed down the table, through his transparent nemesis, narrowly missed the Death Eater sitting at the end, and blasted into the wall at the far end of the room, sending a shower of debris to the floor.

“I'd watch out, mate, he might be trying 'ta kill 'ya,” Harry grinned, “Now, who else wants to feel hot and cold all at once?”

“You're insane, Potter!”

Harry laughed out loud, and then felt his stomach turn. He looked like he was about to be...

Narcissa didn't move fast enough, and now found the front of her robes covered in sticky, chunky sick-up. Harry seemed to flicker a moment, before re-solidifying.

“Woah... almost lost me there. Oh, hello. Um, did I do that?” Harry grinned, plopping himself in Narcissa's lap.

“Get off me you twisted brat!” Narcissa shrieked.

“But your lap... nice lap... comfy lap.”

Now, Voldemort realized at least part of the equation.

“Merlin, Potter, you're drunk.”

“ _Ding ding ding_! We have a winner!” 

Harry waved a hand, and the air exploded with steamers and confetti. From her place beside the fire, Nagini raised her head, and hissed at the boy.

“Aw, Nagini, you're no fun,” Harry pouted, “If you want, I can make you a balloon toy! Wait... I'll do it anyway!”

Another gesture of a hand, and a giant balloon toy in the form of a snake appeared.

“Just don't hump it.”

“You're trying my patience, Potter.”

“Aw, come on, you still haven't commented on my lovely avatar...”

“How is it you've come to do such a thing?”

“It's magic, of course.”

Harry could swear Voldemort looked like he was ready to bang his head on the table.

“Do not test the Dark Lord, boy.”

“Oh. Hello there, Fenrir. I think you're about six months past your last flea bath.”

“ _Avada_ —“

“Uh uh uh, no magic for you,” Harry sing-songed, as with a sweep of his hand, Fenrir Greyback had become the victim of a strong silencing charm. He reached out, and touched the man's wand, and it quite literally turned to dust in his hand.

“Ooops. Did I do _that_? Didn't think I could... though the vomit should have been an obvious clue... The dry cleaner's bill's gonna be a doozy... do we have dry cleaners in the Wizarding world? Oh. Right, house elves... something you seem to lack these days. Should've been kinder to Dobby, eh?”

The gathering simply sat there, muttering, while Voldemort wracked his brain trying to figure a way to get rid of this... this... annoying pest that had somehow barged through impenetrable wards, to stand in the middle of their meeting.

He thrust his wand at the shade. “ _FINITE INCANTATUM!_ ”

Harry giggled again, as the shade flickered a moment.

“ _Buzzzt_. Wrong guess. Want to go for - _hic_ \- double jeopardy, where the scores can really change?”(2)

“When we meet, I will ensure your death is slow, and painful. I promise you, Potter,” Voldemort threatened.

“Oh. Death? Do you know him? Sweet death... oh. _Oh_.”

He stood there a moment, and then, those close to him caught wind of something truly dreadful. A corpse might have smelled better.

“Oooh, oh my. Smells like _death_. The room might have to be condemned,” Harry smirked.

Narcissa looked about ready to be ill, as did a few others.

“Reductor curses, everyone, together,” said Voldemort.

The room seemed to bloom with red bolts of light and the sound of wood shattering. When the dust settled, the table they'd been sitting around had been rendered kindling, and Harry was still standing in the middle, looking serene, if a little unstable on his feet.

“That was fun, can we try again—oh dear. It seems we've had an _accident_.”

A weedy-looking Death Eater was crumpled on the floor, not moving. A few others had also received cuts and scrapes from the flying debris.

“ENOUGH OF THIS, POTTER!” Voldemort roared, his nostrils flaring (if that were even possible, given, well, the somewhat lacking features of his face).

Voldemort suddenly found himself slammed up against the wall by a powerful surge of unseen force.

“You're quite right, I think I have had enough of this - _hic_ \- visit. It has been rather entertaining, but... - _hic_ \- my body's calling me, it wants to sleep. But see, you've made things rather miserable for me and those I care about, so it's - _hic_ \- only fair I reciprocate the favour. We'll chat again real soon.”

The shade suddenly vanished, and Voldemort collapsed to the floor. For the first time ever, he was unnerved by what had just happened. Where had the brat learned such a skill? And how had he been able to... the force he'd used.... he suspected the impact had cracked several ribs, and there would likely be bruising.

“Wormtail! Healing potions!”

“Y-yes, my Lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT:Rasalas is reminded quite graphically why it's not a good idea to provoke the Dark Lord. Warning: Major Character Death._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Just a point about the rituals Ryan and his family performed. There's no right or wrong 'ritual' here. They primarily mark the cycle of the season here, life, death, and rebirth. Winter is the dark season and all. Of course, in this case, they have a priestess of Avalon present, so the ritual is just a little more powerful... and just perhaps, the Goddess is taking an interest in her protege, right? So it does have just a little more ooomph._
> 
> _So... Rasalas/Harry, in projected form, versus Voldemort. While intoxicated. Definitely not something he would dare try while sober. And of course, count on consequences in the future._
> 
> _(1) Of course, referencing the West Wing pilot, where Josh Lyman puts both feet in his mouth (at least figuratively) during a TV interview._
> 
> _(2) Virtual cookies, for those who might guess this reference. I'll throw out a clue: it was a movie released back in the 80s._


	34. Conseuqences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas is reminded quite graphically why it's not a good idea to provoke the Dark Lord. Warning: Major Character Death._

**217\. CONSEQUENCES  
November, 2006**

> “ _Every person has free choice. Free to obey or disobey the Natural Laws. Your choice determines the consequences. Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices.”_

  
_\- Alfred A. Montapert_   


* * *

As Rasalas slowly came awake, he immediately regretted it. The light from the fake window made everything painfully bright, and his head felt about six times too big. 'At least it's not from my scar,' he snorted in his head. His mouth was dry, and tasted like... well, it tasted like someone took a dump in it.

A glance at the clock on the bedside table read: 11:25. The morning was just about gone, so no sense in even attempting to make it to training. Even if it had been early enough, it would be a useless endeavor, considering what he felt like. Dragged behind the  _knight-bus_ was an apt description.

As was the normal practice, Arthur and Brady were on each side of him, though they had separated at one point during the night. He smirked to himself (and then regretted it, even doing that much caused stabbing pain in his head!), realizing they'd all gone to bed still fully dressed, footwear and all. Still comfortable though. Maybe sleeping in his jacket wasn't a bad thing, he mentally shrugged (with even more pain in his head).

His spiritual projection to Voldemort and his Death Eater meeting was likely ill-advised, but... it certainly felt good. To be able to lash out at them, without fear of being injured or killed. Voldemort wanted to bang his head on the table at one point, good on him. And at least one of the Death Eaters present would need the services of a healer. It had been rightly-sewn chaos.

He found out quickly, that not many others in the sanctuary were up to doing anything either. So, the first day of November passed with not a whole lot being accomplished, other than to recover from the previous night's revelry. Though the headache-reliever and the stomach-calming draught did lessen the effects, there really wasn't any urgency for going anywhere or doing anything... so it was a down day.

* * *

_November 3_

The day had been one of the most taxing in recent memory, as Viviane decided to test everyone on how much they'd learned in the six months they'd been studying at Avalon. There had been no prior warning, only her announcing when they arrived, “Today, I would like to see how much you have all learned in the time you've been here thus far.”

No surprise, it was Rasalas who was the furthest ahead, knowing how to perform about ninety percent of the spells he'd learned at Hogwarts without tapping into his own core. There were still a few spells he could not cast without his wand, but he was working on it.

The real surprise, though, was Brady. His control was still somewhat shaky at times, but he was able to tap into the ambient magic around him, call it up at will—the most important concept. Being a creative person as it was, he was finding it easier and easier to get the magic to do his bidding.

Arthur and Lancelot, on the other hand, found disappointment. Though they could call up the ambient magic, they found resistance getting it to do as they wanted it to. It was puzzling, considering both were born from very strong witches.

Aaron, meanwhile, was in about the same place Brady was a couple of months earlier. He was able to tap into the magic sometimes, but not always. He was getting about a fifty percent success rate as things stood. However, when things succeeded, he tended to get impressive results.

The same went for Accolon. Much like Aaron, he understood the basic concepts for tapping into the magic around them, but had intermittent success with it. When successful, he tended to get the effect he wanted, along the lines of an average wizard.

Ryan, meanwhile, found himself not needing his wand at all for the repertoire of spells he knew from the text books. Much like Rasalas, he pulled from the ambient magic, rather than his own core most of the time. His weakness at this point was the power he was putting into his spell work, and to broaden what he could do. Much of it was left to experimentation, such as Rasalas and Brady were doing.

So it was, that the group were all once again gathered in the sanctuary's common room, not all that interested in doing all that much. Rasalas and Brady occupied a couch by the fire, both of them having their feet up on the table. Brady had nodded off to sleep, his head on Rasalas' shoulder.

Aaron and Ryan occupied their own couch, cuddled together, with Aaron running his fingers through Ryan's hair. The pair were made for each other, and no doubt, Rasalas would be attending their bonding ceremony one day.

Arthur and a few of his knights were clustered around a table, mugs of mead in hand, speaking in low tones. This was most certainly a common occurrence, as Arthur avoided the great hall most of the time—particularly should his wife be there (better to allow her to be present at meals, than to confine her to her chamber around the clock). Such a meeting would only result in looks of disapproval from Patricius and a number of other people.

Their split was very much public knowledge at this point, but really... from what they had been able to learn from any historic account—

The pain came out of left field, akin to a white-hot fireplace poker being jabbed into Rasalas' infamous scar. It took everything he had to not emotionally cry out. Now, a scene swam before his eyes: Voldemort. At the Burrow. With his inner circle. The thoughts and emotions being broadcast were unmistakable: glee and anticipation.

“ _Anti port-key and anti-Disapparition wards are in place, my Lord,” said Yaxley, with a sneer._

“ _The blood-traitors have no place to go. Seal the house and set it alight,” Voldemort ordered._

_Now, wands were held aloft, and in unison, jets of flame were flung at the ramshackle-house._

Rasalas' eyes flew open with a start, and his jerky movement woke Brady.

“Ras?” he muttered.

“Bloody hell. Voldemort—attacking the Weasleys'... Gods...”

He scrambled over to the fireplace, and grabbed a pinch of floo powder. He tossed it into the grate, commanding, “English Ministry of Magic, DMLE!” and stuck his head into the green flames.

“Can I help you?” a woman dressed in crimson robes questioned.

“Reporting a Death Eater attack at the Weasleys' residence,” said Rasalas, in a rush, “Other—other places might be at risk.”

“We'll send out a response. How many are present?”

“I dun—I counted twelve, including the Dark Lord himself.”

“May I take your name?”

“Black. Rasalas Black. I... the Weasleys know me. Just... I have to warn others.”

Rasalas pulled his head back out of the fire before the Auror could ask anything else.

“Rasalas, what is happening?” asked Cai.

“Death Eaters are attacking Bill's Parents. Gods... need to warn Dumbledore.”

“Priorities,” said Arthur, “Is it a must that he know?”

“He runs the Order, so yeah, he has to know.”

Rasalas produced his elder wand.

“ _Expecto Patronum._ ”

To the silvery stag that appeared, he spoke, “Dumbledore. Urgent. Voldemort and Death Eaters attacking the Burrow. Sending Fawkes along.” then, “To Albus Dumbledore, urgent.”

The stag bounded out through the door to Ryan's room, and Fawkes seemed to instantly appear in a flash of flames.

“You've heard.”

The bird bobbed his head.

“Good. Find Dumbledore, help him and the Order protect the Weasleys.”

Rasalas again tossed a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace, this time to fire-call Bill. The man came through a half-minute later.

“What happened?”

“Voldemort and his inner circle attacked the Burrow. I've sent warning to Dumbledore and notified the English DMLE, but.”

Alarm was evident on the eldest Weasley boy's face, but he sat heavily in one of the chairs. It was no use to try and go storming off—they'd all more than likely land in a trap. If Voldemort himself was there... he didn't want to think of the terrible outcome.

“I'm going,” Rasalas declared.

“Ras, no! You'll...”

“I'm projecting myself.”

“It's still dangerous.”

“My near surrogate mother may die! I won't just sit here and do nothing,” Rasalas snarled, parking himself in the seat he'd been in earlier. “Now let me concentrate.”

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to bed an hour earlier. Being the headmaster meant long days, with the number of duties and responsibilities he had to the school. If anything, he might have been spread a little thin, balancing three different, very important titles.

Now, as it went on to 3 am, he was awakened by something nosing at his side, with something—someone calling his name. He rose, slipping on his half-moon spectacles, and focused on the being that had woke him. His heart skipped a beat, as he at first believed he was seeing a ghost.

“ _Dumbledore. Urgent. Voldemort and Death Eaters attacking the Burrow. Sending Fawkes along,_ ” came Harry's voice, with urgency.

So this was Harry's Patronus. Merlin, where did he learn to—never mind. Death Eaters attacking the Burrow. Definitely a much larger priority than the wayward boy-who-lived. He snatched a fake galleon off the table at bedside, pressed his new wand to it, and muttered an incantation.

It was then Fawkes appeared, in his customary flash of golden flames. He fluttered over to a nearby chair, and settled onto it, while Dumbledore changed into more appropriate clothing.

“Fawkes. Take me to the Burrow.”

* * *

Voldemort had already Disapparated, and others were starting to vanish, by the time Rasalas appeared. He flung a powerful stunning spell at the first person he saw, causing them to drop to the ground with a thump.

“Leave him!” Yaxley hissed, “Let's be gone from this place, their foolish Order will likely be here in seconds.” 

He popped away before Rasalas could get his own Anti-Apparition ward in place, trapping four behind it. The Order would be able to get in, but not out. A one-way trip sort of configuration, a trick he'd learned during his Auror training.

Right on schedule, there were a series of pops, as the Order began to arrive, as well as Aurors from the ministry. They were too late.

The house itself was a raging inferno, and Rasalas felt a part of himself die inside, as the top floor toppled in a shower of flames, to crash to the ground, sending burning debris and cinders in all directions. If there was anyone inside, they would have succumbed to the tremendous heat.

While the Aurors rounded up the trapped Death Eaters, the Order joined Rasalas in attempting to put the fire out.

“It's _Fiendfyre_ , Harry,” said Dumbledore, assessing the fire's behaviour.

Sure enough, he could see the fire had quite literally taken on a life of its own, with the faces of terrible monsters sometimes appearing within the flames—all fire-based creatures.

“Something stronger then.”

Rasalas cupped his hands together, and everyone on the scene could feel the magic crackling around them, like the approach of an oncoming thunderstorm.

“Hope you all don't mind getting a little wet.”

A sudden surge of water came out of the sky, that soaked everyone and everything in the yard. Magical fire or not, it didn't stand a chance, as by all accounts, something akin to an enormous bucket had dumped a torrent of water on everything.

Rasalas' figure flickered for several moments, while everyone else simply stared, bewildered—Dumbledore excluded. His near disappearance dropped the wards he'd erected.

“Great Goddess... that was draining,” Rasalas finally said, as his figure once again became a little more solid.

“How is it you came to—“ Dumbledore began.

“Never mind that, help me search the house,” said Rasalas, stalking over to the wreckage.

Dumbledore followed. It was unlikely they would find anything left.  _Fiendfyre_ was a terrifying sort of magic, terribly powerful. In the few minutes, it rendered the place a charred ruin, that was now in itself dangerous.

“Rasalas. It's too late.”

“I... I have to see.”

And see, he did. In the charred remains of the kitchen, he found two skeletons, side by side, at the fireplace. They had tried to escape using the floo network—someone had prevented it, likely on the other end. A Death Eater working for Floo Regulation.  _Charming_ .

As he turned to leave the wreckage, there came a terrible creaking, cracking, and groaning of damaged and scorched timbers, as it finally gave way. To Rasalas, it as an odd sensation, to see everything come crashing down on top of him. Of course, he didn't feel anything. He simply strode through the mess, to stop in front of Dumbledore, who was held completely speechless.

“How is it you are able to do such a thing, Mr. Black?” he finally recovered. 

The astonished look suited Dumbledore, Rasalas thought.

“Something I've learned from Viviane. I... see to their remains, tell Ron and Ginny... I... I have to tell Bill.”

Rasalas looked absolutely crushed, and vanished before Dumbledore could ask anything further.

* * *

Bill knew immediately when Rasalas came out of his meditative state that things had not gone well.

“I'm sorry,” Rasalas said, quietly.

“How is it you knew what was happening?” asked Arthur.

Rasalas uncovered the infamous scar on his forehead.

“This. When Voldemort gets particularly emotional about something, or... if he wants to show me something, this... I can't prevent him from doing so.”

“Has anyone truly had a close look at it?” asked Bill, who now looked ashen, just barely trying to keep it together emotionally.

“I'm not worried about that right now. Just... have to let the twins know.”

“I'll worry about that. And Charlie will need to know, so will Percy, and aunt Muriel.”

“I told Dumbledore to break the news to Ron and Ginny... Dumbledore will help you... and you know I will as well. I'm sorry, Bill.”

“Rasalas, don't blame yourself,” Bill tried.

“But I do. Just... I do. Kreacher?”

Rather than pop to him immediately, the elf came in from the dining room.

“Master Rasalas call for Kreacher?”

“I need a calming potion—make that two,” he said, glancing at Bill. The young man was actually shaking.

“Right away, Master Rasalas.” He popped away, only to return moments later with the required potions.

“Thank you.”

Bill consumed the potion, before kneeling in front of the fireplace and making a fire-call to the twins' new shop in Toronto.

Rasalas, meanwhile, did a mental count of the rest of their family. Ron and Ginny, at Hogwarts. Charlie was still in Romania. Fred and George... Bill was speaking to them by floo powder. Rest of them were safe, for now.

What about funeral expenses. It was no secret the Weasleys didn't have a lot of money. That would be part of his debt, then. He caused this bloody mess, so it was only fair he pay the cost of their funeral. And likely to rebuild the Burrow... that house had been so full of love... love went into its construction. And because of his foolish act, it had been reduced to charred remains. Everything they owned... gone.

Bill pulled his head back out of the fire, and seconds later, the twins stepped through, looking visibly upset. The three brothers immediately hugged each other.

“Bill. Uh... Ron and Ginny should be collected from Hogwarts. You guys should be together right now.”

“Rasalas. This is your space. We don't want—“

“It's fine. You guys don't have any place to go. I mean, Fred, George, your flat isn't all that big... and aunt Muriel, if I remember, drive you guys all mad after a while. You're more than welcome to spend a few days here.”

“I'll need to get in contact with Charlie and Percy as well.”

Rasalas closed his eyes a moment.

“They're added to the wards. You guys might as well be family, and... this is what family does, right?”

“All right. Guess you're right in some ways. But... Percy...”

“It's fine. Given the circumstances and all...”

“We c-c-can go back to my p-place, if you g-g-guys need some s-s-space,” said Ryan.

“No, we won't push anyone out of here,” said Bill.

“Definitely not. I'll make a few changes to the sanctuary so the family have their space,” Rasalas decided.

It was then Fawkes arrived in his customary flash of golden flames. He carried a parcel and a short message. Rasalas accepted the parcel, and Fawkes fluttered over to one of the couches, where he began to preen himself. Rasalas, meanwhile, opened the message.

_Rasalas,_

_Both Ginerva and Ronald have been informed of the tragedy this morning. Should William wish it, he may attend the school and collect them for the interim, until the funeral is concluded. Please pass on my sincere condolences, Molly and Arthur will be truly missed, they were strong pillars of the community, and key members of the Order._

_As Fawkes has decided he prefers your company to mine, I send along the golden perch which he has grown accustomed to. Though I'm sure you did procure something appropriate, he may find this more suitable._

_Though we may at the moment see ourselves on opposing sides, we do still work toward a similar goal, Mr. Black, and I hope that one day we will again work together. Know that my grate (and my door) will always be open to you._

_Best wishes in these difficult times,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Rasalas simply gave a nod, before passing the letter to Bill, and opening the parcel. Sure enough, inside of it was the golden perch he'd seen a number of times in the headmaster's office. A touch of it with his hand revealed no hidden spells or the like, and so a second gesture had it restored to original size.

“I'll Apparate to Hogwarts in the morning,” Bill decided.

“Perhaps it is time we retire for the night,” said Cai, standing, “If only to permit grief without our prying eyes.”

“I agree with the sentiment,” said Accolon, and the three knights bid their good-nights, slipping back into the castle.

* * *

No matter how he tried, Rasalas just could not get to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was faced with the horrible image of the Weasleys' home as a raging inferno. He could actually see the two people he looked up to as parents, being burned alive, calling out for him to save them.

Finally, just before sunrise, he gave up on the prospect of sleep, and took a port key to the magical isle. It was beautiful in that time of the morning, or would be, if his heart were not so heavy. He trudged across the lawn, and sat down, cross-legged, in front of the statue of the Goddess.

Viviane was more than surprised to find the young wizard in that position sometime later.

“Young Rasalas. Why do I find you here so early—“

She stopped as Rasalas looked up, his face wet with tears.

“I have done a terrible thing, your grace,” he cried, his voice shaky.

It was such a complete reversal of the young wizard she was used to seeing—the leader, the one who had picked up on concepts insanely quickly, though guided by unseen forces. This morning, in his place, was a shell of a man, appearing older than his years, haunted by something that had happened between the end of yesterday's lesson, and her discovery of him.

Viviane knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me, child, what has happened, that you find yourself so distraught?”

“I... the morning following Samhain... we had much drink and merriment. After such, I used spiritual projection to visit Voldemort. I would never do such a thing while sober.”

“What sort of thing did you do while in his presence?”

“I... I don't remember much of it at all... save for slamming him against a wall. I did not wake up until much later in the morning and I think... I think I was sick.”

Viviane arched an eyebrow.

“You are able to affect things while in your ghost form? Rasalas, you are truly a powerful mage.”

“I would give it all away, if I could undo the terrible consequences that followed. Last night, Bill's parents were murdered in their home by Voldemort and his followers. I... Though I did not participate in that, I still set such a horrible act in motion. Had I not...”

“Rasalas. Look at me.”

Viviane gently cupped Rasalas' chin, and turned his face so they locked eyes.

“You could not have known he would have such a violent reaction. Perhaps you might not have chosen the best course of action, but by no means are you responsible. Evil people do evil things, surely you know this.”

“But had I not—“

“Rasalas. It is impossible to know whether or not that is true.”

“Actually, I'm positive, your grace. This...” Rasalas again flipped the hair out of his face to show the infamous scar, “...is a cursed connection with him. He showed me _exactly_ what he was doing, as he was _doing_ it. It was too late to really do anything.”

“As tragic as it is, we all make horrible mistakes. All you can do, is take the lesson for what it is, and do your best not to repeat it. Come. Let's get you some breakfast, and perhaps dispatch a message back to your friends so they do not become concerned of your location.”

Rasalas allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and he followed the Lady of the Lake back up to the priestess' quarters. On the way, he dispatched a Patronus back to the sanctuary, letting others know where he was. As comforting as Viviane's words were, though, it still didn't make him okay with what had happened.

As they crossed the threshold into the quarters, a ghostly animal seemed to appear. Rasalas recognized it immediately as Bill's Patronus.

“ _Rasalas. Return to sanctuary at once. We have more news,_ ” it spoke, before vanishing.

“Forgive me, I have to return to sanctuary.”

“Go. I will see you for training.”

“I...”

“Rasalas, returning to training is better than sitting idle, allowing your thoughts to eat away at your conscience and your soul,” said Viviane.

Rasalas sighed. He knew she was right. He gave a bow of the head, before giving a twist, and Disapparated with a not-so-quiet  _pop_ .

He arrived in his own room within the sanctuary, and quickly stepped into the main room, where the others were gathered. Bill had not gone to Hogwarts yet, but both Percy and Charlie were already present. Percy gave Rasalas an incline of the head, before turning back to his second-oldest brother.

“Ras. Uh, you're not g-g-gonna like it,” said Ryan. 

Having been around the younger wizard since the summer, he could already gauge his reaction to things. This wasn't gonna be pretty, he realized, as he slid that morning's copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ across the small table.

Rasalas picked it up, and immediately wished he hadn't. The top half of the page was filled with a collage of pictures, carrying the aftermath of some of the attacks, where Aurors were busy collecting bodies and evidence. Only one showed Aurors leading a death eater away in a full body bind.

NIGHT OF CHAOS: HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED

MAKES HIS PRESENCE FELT IN

NIGHT OF DESTRUCTIONAND VIOLENCE

_Britain's magical community is reeling this morning, after He-who-must-not-be-named and his death eaters descended on the homes of dozens of witches and wizards across the country. The Ministry of Magic has yet to release final numbers, but the death toll might reach as high as 80._

_This does not include the many Muggle targets also hit during the night, which will have the Office of Magical Catastrophes, the Office of Misinformation, and the Office of Muggle Relations very busy for the next little while._

_Some of the notable casualties include Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror office, and high-ranking Auror Gawain Robards. The Minister of Magic will hold a news conference this morning, at 10 am, to make an official statement with regard to this ghastly series of events. (see page 2 for a chronological list of attack sites, and casualties)_

_From the initial reports, it appears as though the you-know-who and his followers attacked the homes of families directly opposed to him, such as the Weasley family and the Tonks family. In both examples, the residences were burned to the ground. It is believed that both Arthur and Molly Weasley, as well as Theodore Tonks, his wife Andromeda, and their daughter Nymphadora, have been killed in those two attacks alone._

_The Prophet will continue to cover this very dark event as further details come to light, and a special evening edition will be published to cover this morning's news conference. The public may listen in live on the Wizard Wireless Network._

 

_Rosemerta Spinnett,_

_For the Daily Prophet_

Rasalas flung the paper up into the air, and stormed off into the parlour, and a door slammed seconds later. Moments after that, there came a loud crash. Ryan immediately moved to follow, but Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

“He must be allowed to release his anger.”

“H-h-he might hurt himself!”

“Just let him vent,” said Charlie, “Though I think we're missing something. All that guilt, there's got to be a reason behind it.”

Another loud explosion rang out from the room, and Bill flicked his wand at the door leading back into the castle, closing it.

“Rather the rest of the castle not get concerned about what's going on.”

He thought for a moment.

“Yeah, I agree with Charlie. Rasalas is involved in this somehow. Listen, I have to go to Hogwarts and fetch Ron and Ginny.”

“Ras probably won't want Dumbledore knowing his floo address here,” said Aaron.

“Use ours,” Fred suggested.

“Right, good thinking,” Bill agreed, as he picked up a handful of floo powder. He flung it into the grate, causing the flames to roar up. “Hogwarts, headmaster's office!” he called out, then stepped through.

An uncomfortable silence descended on the room, punctuated by the occasional crash from the unseen room Rasalas was using. It was known that the Tonks family were related to the Blacks, never mind the connection Rasalas had with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He had lost family, both figuratively, and literally.

Arthur finally had enough of the perceived destruction, and dared approach the door which had been added to the parlour. There was a locking charm put on the door, as expected, but the king waved a hand, and there came an audible click. Cautiously, he pushed the door open—and was stunned at what he found.

The room had been rendered ruins, with everything in it being blown apart, rather spectacularly. The walls, the floor, even the ceiling carried terrible scorch marks and craters, where pieces of the surface had been blown from them, adding to the debris on the floor. The young wizard had let it all go on the objects in the room, this much was crystal clear.

Rasalas spun around, and was about to hurl another blast of magic, but halted mid-stride, realizing who it was. He was covered in dust from the debris, though his face was half-wet from shed tears. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving from the exertion.

“Rasalas...”

“Leave me be.”

“No.”

“Just... leave. It's...”

Arthur gave him a weak smile.

“You gave me strength in my time of need, now I return favour. My shoulders are broad, young Ras. Allow me to share your burden.”

“Not this.”

“Say not that,” said Arthur, as he crossed the debris-riddled floor, “Such anger and grief, you have a guilty heart.”

“That I have already confessed before the Goddess.”

“Then what is it, that you are so troubled? The Goddess forgives our mistakes, as much as God does, both know I have made my share of them.”

“I... I...” Rasalas could not continue, as his eyes again welled up with tears.

Arthur closed the distance, and pulled him into a hug. And now, the young wizard at last completely collapsed, overcome with grief. Arthur held him tight, gently rubbing his back as he cried, doing his best to offer comfort. But what else could he do? The tables had been reversed, and now, he was offering the same support Rasalas had offered him when his queen began to reject him. He made a silent promise, that no matter what, he would do whatever he could to support the dark-haired mage who had dropped into his life from fourteen-hundred years in the future.

“Ras. No matter what happens, I will always offer my sword, my heart, my—somewhat thus far weak magic—and if necessary, my blood for you.”

“Y-you don't have to do it,” Rasalas sobbed.

“I want to.”

They separated, and Arthur reached up and brushed some of the dirt off of Rasalas' face.

“My heart aches, to see you so distraught.”

“I did a terrible thing.”

“You have a terrible habit of repeating yourself, young mage.”

“I am the reason Voldemort went after Bill's parents. I set Voldemort off the morning after Samhain when I visited him in my... ghost form,” Rasalas explained, quietly.

“It is most certainly not your fault. You did not actively attack those families, Voldemort did. Though perhaps it was unwise to visit him for any reason... it still falls on his shoulders, Ras.”

“The Weasleys will hate me!”

“No, they won't. If they have the hearts I believe they do, they will understand such as I do.”

“My heart still feels heavy.”

“You have suffered loss. But it is not your fault. Say that for me.”

“It's not my fault,” said Rasalas, dully.

“Say it as you would mean it. Say it to your heart, that your mind might believe.”

“It's not my fault,” Rasalas repeated, this time a little more forcefully.

“When you start to doubt, I want you to say that to yourself. It's not my fault. Realize he is a monster, capable of far worse, considering what you have shown us. Monsters do unspeakable things, such as the Saxons here. They cannot be reasoned with, only hunted and destroyed.”

“As your father fatally learned,” said Rasalas, softly. “Arthur. No matter what, never trust a Saxon. He'll shake your hand while he's stabbing you in the back.”

“I am well aware. Now come. Let us return to the others.”

When they returned to the common room, they found Bill had returned, bringing both Ron and Ginny.

“Harry,” Ron greeted, sullenly. He looked about as shell-shocked as his siblings did.

“Ron. I'm sorry. I tried to, but...”

“It's not your fault,” Arthur whispered.

Rasalas only nodded, separating from the king, only to embrace his first friend.

“I... I don't know how much you're gonna like me after... if you hate me, I don't blame you, but... I know why Voldemort went after your mum and dad,” said Rasalas, and proceeded to tell them, or at least give them a summary of his visit to Voldemort in ghost-like form.

For a few seconds after, no one said a thing, only giving blank expressions, as though trying to process what Rasalas was saying.

“He's able to send his consciousness outside of his body,” Arthur explained, seeing the blank expressions.

“But how is that possible?” asked Ginny, still confused.

“I'd show you, but...” Rasalas let out a sigh. “It's difficult to do without being calm... and right now, after all this... there's no way I could do it.”

Aaron furrowed his brows. “But... dude. Why would you wanna visit your worst enemy?”

“How much alcohol did we have a few nights ago?”

'O', Aaron mouthed, as it dawned on him.

“Good lord,” Brady managed, “Bat shit crazy. Drunk or not, holy shit!”

“So you visited you-know-who in some sort of... ghost-form, while you were pissed?” asked Charlie.

Rasalas nodded sadly.

The twins, meanwhile, looked at each other, then back at Rasalas, before bursting out laughing.

“Son of Prongs he is!” George cackled.

“Outdone us by a mile!” Fred threw in.

“But... your parents—“

“Harry, Harry, Harry. Mate, it's the Dark Lord. He could have had this planned months in advance, for all we know,” said George.

“It's not your fault,” said Fred, “We don't blame you.”

“He's right,” Bill agreed, “Perhaps not the wisest thing you could've done, but we know what the Dark Lord is capable of. By the looks of the list of names, they all spoke out against him.”

“I disagree,” said Percy, “This looks exactly like you-know-who getting revenge. What were you—“

Percy suddenly found he couldn't make a sound. Ginny stood beside Rasalas, wand in hand.

“We know what you think, _Percival_ ,” said Ginny, putting emphasis on her brother's given name, “Considering you're such a brown-noser at the ministry.”

Arthur furrowed his brows, confused. “Brown-noser?”

“He's a kiss-ass and nothing more. Sent Christmas gifts back to mum, unopened... ran mum and dad's name through the mud all last year, cozying up to Fudge and the ridiculous ministry he runs. How am I doing, _Percival_?” Ginny sneered.

* * *

That evening, Rasalas once again projected himself to the Malfoy estate. It seemed that the Dark Lord was staying there, as once again, they were gathered in the great room. Nowhere near as many as had been there much earlier in the week. Perhaps the raids hadn't gone as favourable as some might think.

It didn't matter to Rasalas. He wasn't there to engage in conversation this time. No, instead he slipped into the cellar, first checking for a prison or anything that might be holding captives. Surprise, surprise. Captives. He vanished the doors on the cells, produced a port key, and sent the group on their way—the great hall at Hogwarts ought to be sufficient—the Order would sort them all out.

Now, to find the ward stone. If his little plan was to work, he'd have to disable or change a few things. Ah, there it would be. He quickly disabled the fire-suppression ward, and altered the apparition ward. It likely wouldn't keep them all in, but it would delay their escape.

Now, for the fun part! He climbed the stairs back up to the main level of the home, and headed for the kitchen. Inside, he waved his hand in a wide swath, feeling the ambient magic around him be called in to do his bidding. In this case, it was asked to become fire. And become fire, it did! In a split-second, the room was filled with an immense fireball. It was as if the room had been filled with petrol vapour.

He then climbed the stairs to the second level, not really caring that the smaller meeting spotted him—they would have much bigger fish to fry in a few seconds—namely trying to escape the burning manor. 'Wonder if the Malfoys have insurance', he giggled in his head, as he skipped his way down the corridor. The smell of smoke was already making itself known.

Oh, what do we have here? A study? Rasalas again gestured with a wide arc, and the room was turned into an another fireball. A part of him lamented the loss of perhaps hundreds of priceless books, but... this was the Malfoys. Most of it would likely be very dark or prohibited in the first place. It was no great—

_BOOOOOM_ .

He suddenly woke up with a gasp, his ears ringing, his heart thumping in his chest, and he realized, with enough of a magical interruption, he could certainly be banished back to his own body. Oh well.  _ OUCH _ ... a searing white-hot pain flared in his scar. Yup, Voldemort was once again beyond angry. Maybe he splinched himself. Rasalas giggled as he entertained the thought. 'Let's see the Malfoys fix  _ that _ with their money.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas attends the Weasleys' funeral; things then somewhat return to normal, with Rasalas conquering a charm that had been giving him trouble..._
> 
>  
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: I did warn about character death, right?_


	35. Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas attends the Weasleys' funeral; things then somewhat return to normal, with Rasalas conquering a charm that had been giving him trouble..._

**218\. FUNERAL  
November, 2006**

> “ _Your coffin reached the monstrous hole. And a part of me went down into the muddy earth with you and lay down next to you and died with you.”_

  
― _Rosamund Lupton,_ Sister  


* * *

_November 10, 2006_  
 _Cemetery near Ottery St. Catchpole_

The number of people who showed up for the Weasleys' funeral was remarkable. There had been a number of people from the ministry, including Perkins, Mr. Weasley's only colleague from the  _Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office_ . Cornelius Fudge was there, as well as Amelia Bones, still head of DMLE. Rasalas noted there were a number of crimson-robed witches and wizards providing security, considering the number of important ministry officials present.

Rasalas had to snort in his head once again, knowing how the ministry had treated the Weasley patriarch. Now that he was gone, they made a show, put on a false face, saying 'how wonderful he was, the great contribution he made to the ministry', and other false platitudes. It made Rasalas want to vomit.

It looked like the entire Order was present, including its head, as were a number of teachers from Hogwarts. Arthur Weasley was well-liked in the circles that mattered—Hogwarts, the Order, and so on. So it was good to see so many out to pay final respects to the man and his wife.

There were a number of students from the school also present, as well as past alumni. Rasalas had greeted Oliver Wood shortly before they took seats. The guy looked fit, and the glance the former captain gave him made him blush. 'O', Rasalas realized. So he  _does_ play both ends of the pitch, then. He shoved the thoughts away, trying to concentrate on the tufty-haired man in plain black robes, who was leading the ceremony(1).

His mind still wandered back to the injustice of it all. Though Bill and his siblings had told him so many times over the past few days that it wasn't his fault, Rasalas still felt it was. Sure, Voldemort was an evil man. However, had he not gone off and visited the man in the middle of the night while absolutely blitzed, there was a very good chance the Weasleys would still have their parents, rather than sitting here, stone-faced, while their bodies (or the remains thereof) were placed in the ground!

The ceremony over, and various officials beginning to depart, Dumbledore and McGonagall approached Rasalas, Bill, and Brady—Brady had been the only one from the sanctuary to join him, since Arthur thought it might not be safe, and realistically, he was right.

“Good day to you, Black,” McGonagall greeted, “Wish it were under better circumstances.”

“You and I both, Professor,” answered Rasalas, with an incline of the head. “Err... Professor, this is Brady Gibson, a close friend. Brady, Professor Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress.”

“Ma'am,” said Brady, as they shook hands.

Rasalas, meanwhile, faced Dumbledore.

“Thank you for the perch, Fawkes is appreciative.”

“I'm sure he was,” said Dumbledore. “Mr. Black, we were planning to retreat back to the _Three Broomsticks_ for a gathering and perhaps a toast.”

Rasalas glanced at Bill, who gave a nod.

“I think I would like that.”

* * *

Shortly thereafter, with a blur of limbs, a rather large group arrived just outside the  _Three Broomsticks_ in Hogsmeade. It was one of a few places that escaped the attack relatively unscathed, requiring only a few repairs. Many other places in the small Wizarding community had been severely damaged, some razed to the ground. It was a graphic demonstration of just how angry Voldemort had been.

Rasalas couldn't help but silently berate himself for the mayhem. No matter what anyone said, he was still partly responsible. He knew one thing. Dumbledore must  _never_ know. He'd never hear the end of it.

Given the state of the town, the pub was pretty much empty, and so the large group was easily accommodated. Madame Rosemerta, the proprietor, provided the first round (most got shots of firewhiskey, while the minors present received mugs of butterbeer). They all stood around the joined table, with glasses in hand, as Kingsley Shacklebolt, a tall, dark-skinned man rose his shot glass.

“To Molly and Arthur. Though you pass, your love we still hold dear to our hearts.”

“To Molly and Arthur,” said the rest of the gathering, and the drinks were consumed (or sipped, if your beverage wasn't firewhiskey).

As the stories and reminisces began, Rasalas dispatched a  _Patronus_ back to the sanctuary. “ _We'll be a while yet, we're having a drink at the Three Broomsticks_ ,” it said.

“What about you, Ras. Your fondest memory,” said Charlie.

“Well... most of it comes third-hand given my injury over a year ago. But... Ron shared this pensieve memory of the first time I ever saw the burrow. Fred and George had to rescue me from my relatives—though all the details behind it, I'm still in the dark and that's neither here nor there—but... we sneak into the house, get about ten feet, and there's Mrs. Weasley, looking all _scary_ , shrieking, 'Where have you been?' I think all mums can be scary, but this was 'mother loves you but she's really, really angry,' scary.

“It was quite something, a... um, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde... um...”

He floundered, seeing the blank looks he was getting.

“Or... oh. It was like a switch. She was frightening, angry toward Fred, George, and Ron, then she was all nice toward me. 'Not that we blame you, Harry dear,' she'd said.”

“And then she really let dad have it when he got home,” George remembered.

“Yeah, indeed, Molly certainly could yell,” said a witch further down the table. Another member of the Order, Rasalas realized.

They ended up spending the rest of the afternoon at the pub. Realizing it was only a short time before dinner was to be served at Hogwarts, everyone went their own way. Rasalas produced another port key, and with final good byes, the Weasleys and Rasalas vanished in another blur of limbs.

They arrived back in the sanctuary's main room, and after getting themselves re-oriented, they headed for the dining room. Dinner at Hogwarts meant lunch time back at the sanctuary.

“What?” Brady asked, catching Rasalas' gaze. They'd stepped into their room to change.

“You clean up nice,” said Rasalas. Brady had gone with a dark suit and tie, forgoing the cap and most of his jewelry.

“Don' get used to it.”

“Guess that just makes it all the more special,” Rasalas grinned, as he too began to change. He'd also dressed up, wearing a set of robes for the first time in his new memories. He'd had to visit a wizarding clothing shop the day before, purchasing a dark robe with the Black crest on the left breast. Though it had been a funeral, it was still considered a public function, and Kate had suggested he put his best foot forward.

Clothes changed, they joined the others in the dining room for lunch.

“How did it go?” asked Ryan.

“Dumbledore was there. He behaved himself, before you ask,” answered Rasalas, as he began to fill his plate. Looked like roast chicken and typical fare to match.

“N-n-no shit, pulling something at a f-f-funeral... wouldn't make him popular,” Ryan snorted.

“Thanks for being there, mate,” said Ron.

“Your mum's been the closest thing to a mum I've had—with Ryan's being now a very close second. So of course I had to be there. Listen... All of you. Whatever you need, ask for it and it's yours. It's the least I can do.”

“Mum and dad didn't like charity,” said Charlie.

“It is not charity. It is what family does for one another,” said Arthur, “From what all of you have shared with me, it seems Rasalas is family in all but blood. Correct me if I am wrong.”

“He's right, Charlie,” said Bill, “And really, do we want to have to put up with Aunt Muriel?”

“Case closed. You're all staying with me for the interim. Or at least, you can stay in the house.”

“It's just Ginny and Ron that really need a place to stay,” said Bill.

“He's right, of course,” said Percy, “I do have my flat back in Diagon Alley.”

“Which might not exactly be safe. Death Eaters attacked the alley as well, you're lucky they didn't target you.”

Ron let out a snort. “Actually surprised they didn't. It's not exactly a secret you work for Fudge, Perce. I think you-know-who made it pretty clear we're targets, right?”

Percy frowned. “So I'm to stay here with you lot.”

“Better than bein' dead,” said Brady between bites.

“You can use the fire here to get to work and back. It accepts international connections—though it's heavily warded, for obvious reasons.”

Percy again frowned. “You have an illegal international floo connection.”

“Information that, if you tell anyone, it won't be Voldemort you'll have to worry about,” said Bill, nastily, “Last thing we need is for you to alienate Harry—or Rasalas.”

“Yes, I'm very much aware of his name change. Caused more than quite a stir with the minister. But an international floo connection—“

“Is warded against most people from using it. So common Joe Public aren't going to be waltzing through and bypassing proper international protocol, if that's what you're worried about.”

He thought for a moment.

“Let's just finish up here, and I'll get you guys settled in the house.”

* * *

Rasalas found himself attending yet another funeral shortly after, this one for the Tonks family. Though he didn't know Andromeda and Ted all that well—or their daughter, for that matter—they were still family. This time, he declined the invite to attend a wake, citing security concerns.

* * *

By the end of the following week, things had returned somewhat to normal. Both Ron and Ginny had returned to Hogwarts, the twins returned to their shop in Toronto, and Charlie went back to the dragon preserve in Romania. There was an agreement the lot of them would return over the holidays.

Toward the end of the month, Rasalas finally had a breakthrough with one of the spells he was still not able to cast without his wand: the Patronus charm. The memory he'd been using to power it just didn't cut it with this new method. Even pushing a little of his own magic out through his hand didn't seem to have much effect... though it did produce a faint mist that quickly dissipated.

It was in thinking of those memories, that he had an 'ah-ha' moment. The magic he was wielding at this point was lower-level, raw, unrestrained, and channelled very differently. Though Rasalas was only beginning to understand the mechanics, he was very quickly learning, that with control, there were few limits—much as Brady was also learning. Bloody hell, the man could be creative.

So, happy thoughts. Clearly, one didn't cut it. How about, tying a bunch of them together? A stream of many. Occlumency really helped in this situation, as he collected dozens of truly beautiful, powerful, joyful memories he'd experienced over the past few months. No surprise, Brady and Arthur figured heavily in many of them. One word to describe the feeling that bloomed in his mind: joy. Not just happiness. Joy.

Those memories combined, and Rasalas felt his heart swell, as a storm of energy surged around his hand, to shoot at the ground, and morph into an enormous stag. It shone almost painfully bright, bathing the entire stone circle in a light that overwhelmed the overcast November sky.

“Yesss!” Rasalas exclaimed, as the animal bounded around the circle, then wandered back over to him.

“Congratulations,” Viviane beamed.

“It is the spell you used to dispatch a message to your headmaster,” Arthur remembered.

“Yeah. But this still took a lot of power and a lot of concentration—more concentration, now that I think of it.”

“How long did it take you to produce it?” asked Viviane.

“Longer than had I cast it with my wand,” answered Rasalas.

“Then you need to keep practicing. But take a rest, and celebrate your success. You have spent most of the afternoon working with that, have you not?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Rasalas watched the ghostly animal a moment, before he gestured with a hand, and the Patronus dissipated.

“That's one thing I like about doing it this way... I don't need to keep energy focused on it once it forms.”

“Useful if you needed to cast other m-magic,” said Ryan.

“Exactly. We end up in a battle where the enemy brings a Dementor or three, we don't end up with a defender tied up holding a Patronus charm. Right. So I'm going for a ride on my broom.”

“Care for a passenger?” Arthur questioned.

“Of course.” Rasalas reached into his pouch, and produced his broom. “We'll stay within the wards, so we don't run into enemies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas receives some unwelcome news surrounding Draco's detainment; he then meets with Dumbledore and the headmaster shares his suspicions about what the Dark Lord has done to obtain immortality, only to have the tables turned, as Rasalas reveals what he already knows..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: At just under 3,000 words, this is a rather short chapter, but I felt it needed to for the most part stand on its own. Rasalas/Harry learns a VERY painful lesson here._


	36. A Frightening Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas receives some unwelcome news surrounding Draco's detainment; he then meets with Dumbledore and the headmaster shares his suspicions about what the Dark Lord has done to obtain immortality, only to have the tables turned, as Rasalas reveals what he already knows..._

**219\. A FRIGHTENING REVELATION  
December, 2006**

> “ _A secret's worth depends on the people from whom it must be kept.”_

  
― _Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind_  


* * *

_December 5_

The owl was waiting for them as they returned from the day's lessons. Rasalas accepted the letter, and the bird took off, leaving through the door back into the Sawyers. Rasalas, meanwhile, opened the message.

_Rasalas,_

_Draco Malfoy was released from custody this morning, and all charges against him were dismissed. I did inquire as to why the charges were dismissed. Bias toward the defendant was cited as the reason._

_I'm truly appalled at the answer, as it definitely proves what we already know: an unprecedented level of corruption exists in the English ministry. I'm now working with the firm to mount a proper response to this, as most certainly, this sort of thing cannot be allowed to be just dismissed. We know he will very likely do something else, perhaps something far worse._

_Don't engage him or his supporters for now, we're working on the matter. Though it does go without saying, do be careful if you visit Hogwarts. Released from charges or not, he will very likely seek vengeance for being locked up for nearly a month and a half._

_Yours,_

_Kate Lewis_

Rasalas growled in frustration, then shredded the letter into tiny pieces.

“Unwelcome news,” said Arthur. It wasn't a question.

“I'll have his head,” Rasalas promised.

“Whose head?”

“Draco Malfoy. The little bastard once again escapes justice.”

Rasalas rubbed the back of his head and blew out a breath.

“Guess it shouldn't surprise me in the end. Just like his father, nearly impossible to pin anything on them.”

“Come. Let us have food and drink, and forget about the thorn in your side for now,” said Arthur, softly, guiding him into the dining room.

Rasalas permitted it. It was much simpler to just leave the matter to Kate. Her law office would keep digging, and hopefully figure out how and why such a clear-cut case had come apart. With the number of witnesses, Draco should have faced the Wizengamot. No, instead, he was back at Hogwarts, likely being his typical antagonistic self.

“Calm yourself,” Arthur whispered, as the took seats at the table, “Perhaps we might take evening flight, if you are willing.”

Rasalas let out a sigh, then smiled. A broom ride would be nice, yes. He felt the butterflies take flight in his stomach yet again, as Arthur filled their cups with wine.

“Not too much. It's not a good idea to drink and fly.”

That had Ryan and Aaron smirking.

“I'm gon' spend time with mom,” said Brady.

“You don't mind us using your virtual back yard?” Rasalas questioned.

“No, 'course not.”

* * *

A few days later, on December 11, Rasalas received a message from Dumbledore, this one in the form of a Patronus.

“ _Mr. Black, though we do not currently see eye-to-eye, there is something I must show you. Please come visit me in my office at Hogwarts. I understand you are able to do so without putting yourself at risk. I await your visit, any time today is acceptable._ ”

The silvery phoenix vanished.

“'ya gon' do it?” asked Brady. 

It was a rare down day for the group, with Arthur, Accolon, Lancelot, and Cai being called away to the great hall to deal with an urgent matter. Rasalas had immediately dispatched a Patronus of his own to Viviane, warning they wouldn't be visiting Avalon that day.

“I'll at least entertain the old man. Though I think I have an idea what he wants. I may end up taking the morning.”

Rasalas got up, and returned to his room. He laid down, closed his eyes, and began to focus his consciousness. With much practice, it now only took him a few seconds to transmit his consciousness to the desired location. It was truly remarkable, considering his body was perfectly safe. He could lash out at people without worry about harm coming to him—that had been tested over and over again. The only person capable of causing him pain was Viviane, though that would be because she wielded the same kind of magic, so, that made loads of sense.

Now, Rasalas found himself standing below the gargoyle that guarded the stairway up into the headmaster's office. He could have just popped directly into the office, but that might be rude, and if the headmaster was acting civil, then so would Rasalas.

“Err. The headmaster is expecting me,” he said, to the inanimate object. It rumbled a second, before rotating out of the way, revealing the spiral staircase. He quickly climbed the stairs, and knocked.

“Come in,” came Dumbledore's voice. He sounded surprised.

Rasalas had to suppress a smirk, as he pushed the door open, and entered the office. Clearly, the headmaster couldn't detect him.

“Ah, Mr. Black. Glad you could make it,” said Dumbledore, from the inner part of the office.

“I just got your Patronus. I can spend the morning, but no longer.”

“It shouldn't take that long. Won't you take a seat?”

“Thank you.”

Rasalas took the offered seat.

“I would offer you a lemon drop, but given your present condition...”

Rasalas couldn't help but chuckle.

“No, wouldn't be a lot of benefit,” he agreed. “Anyway.”

“You are learning truly impressive skills,” said Dumbledore. “I trust the Lady of the Lake is proving a more than adept teacher.”

“Very much so. And before you ask, I can't take you there. Understand, I do not trust you, and likely never will. If not for this ability, we wouldn't be meeting alone, if at all.”

Dumbledore simply gave a nod. If he were honest with himself, it was entirely his fault that things now stood as they did between the pair. Showing up at the Sawyers' had been a terrible mistake. No matter, there were still things he had to explain, perhaps to win back a small slice of that trust. They did have a common enemy.

“Mr. Black. Rasalas. As was said in my message, I have something to show you. Something that relates to Voldemort, and how he has come to be. Are you able to enter a pensieve memory in your present form?”

“As far as I know. As you've seen during the tragic attack on the Burrow at the beginning of November, I can most certainly interact with the environment.”

“Ah. Of course. The display of magic on your part was astounding,” said Dumbledore. 

Even now, he was clearly impressed. He gestured at a nearby cabinet with his wand—a very light, slightly longer wand. A silver bowl floated out of it, across the room, to settle down to the edge of Dumbledore's desk. Identical to the one Rasalas owned, it contained a shimmering liquid.

“Whose memory am I about to see?”

“That of Bob Ogden,” answered Dumbledore, as he fished into his robes and pulled out a small vial that contained a swirling, silvery-white substance—a memory.

He seemed to have trouble with the vial, and then, Rasalas noticed it. Dumbledore's right hand looked as though... as though it had been burned very badly.

“Professor, what happened with your hand?”

“A tale for another time.”

Rasalas thought for a moment. If the man were to die... no, that wouldn't be a good thing.

“Professor, what happened to your hand? We might be able to help fix it.”

“It relates to the memories I wish to share with you. In simple terms, I came in contact with a cursed object without exercising precautions.”

Rasalas hid his satisfaction with such a blunder quite well.

“How long do you have?”

“The year at best. Professor Snape has limited the spread, but cannot stop it altogether.”

“I see. I'll speak with Viviane and Morgaine. They might be able to do something that will reverse the damage altogether.”

“And what would you want in exchange?”

“A promise from you that you will not interfere with me, my friends, my affairs, my business, in any shape or form.”

“I will have to consider it.”

“Don't wait too long. The curse will take you before June,” said Rasalas, dryly.

Dumbledore once again found himself thrown off balance by the young wizard—or the ghost of which—sitting in his office. He sighed inwardly, before at last getting the cork stopper out of the vial. He dumped the contents of it in the pensieve.

Rasalas, meanwhile, brought things back on track with the question he'd meant to ask.

“Who is Bob Ogden?”

“He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Dumbledore answered, “He died sometime ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties.”

Dumbledore indicated they stand up, and Rasalas did so.

“After you.”

Rasalas stuck a finger in the liquid, and found himself pulled in, and moments later, Dumbledore landed beside him.

The memory was somewhat curious, as they followed the DMLE official, to a small run-down hovel on the edge of a large estate. The place appeared to be in immaculate condition, with its manicured lawns and hedges.

The owner of the hovel was a miserable man, with his children. The man was horribly abusive to the woman—Merope, he'd called her. Morfin, meanwhile—a man dressed in nothing better than rags—was the reason for the visit. The man had blatantly violated the  _Statute of Secrecy_ by attacking a member of the family who owned the estate, apparently covering the man's face with hives. It was clear the pair of men were cruel, particularly to the sorry-looking witch.

They exited the pensieve, with Bob Ogden running for his life. Once again seated in the headmaster's office, Rasalas seemed to think on things a moment, while the headmaster sat quietly, looking pensive himself.

“After viewing the memory I've shown, I would love to hear your thoughts, Mr. Black.”

“If I had to guess... Merope Gaunt was Tom Riddle's mother,” Rasalas said, simply. He'd not known that up to now, but it had been nothing to put it together. “And the man in the carriage...”

“Was Tom Riddle's father,” Dumbledore finished.

Rasalas again thought for a few minutes. This was an interesting insight. So how had Voldemort come about then? Unless... No, he would need to do a little research of his own. He still didn't trust Dumbledore. He would verify his sources.

“You have other memories like this one.”

“I do.”

“I might save you from showing me a couple of them. I've had an interesting conversation with Kreacher back during the summer,” said Rasalas. “If you could clear the pensieve, I'll show it to you.”

Dumbledore gestured with his wand, collecting the memory from the pensieve, while Rasalas pressed a finger to his temple, and pulled out a similar strand of a wispy, gas-like substance. He then dropped it into the pensieve.

“After you, sir.”

Now, Dumbledore was treated to Rasalas' memory of his conversation with Kreacher about the locket. The headmaster instantly recognized it as being the same locket as they'd seen around the neck of Merope Guant: Slytherin's locket.

When they re-emerged from the pensieve, Dumbledore asked, “Do you still have the locket?”

“Kreacher is keeping it safe.”

“And your thoughts on what it might be?”

“Come on, sir. We both know what it is. Kept with powerful, terrible enchantments on it that not even house elf magic can put a dent in? Couple that with another artefact I faced at the end of second year—according to Ginny's memories? Voldemort has made Horcruxes... several of them. Three, or more likely, knowing his temperament, seven.”

Dumbledore once again found himself off balance as Rasalas revealed what he knew. He'd hoped that, with the revelation of such matters, the boy would once again begin to trust him. Maybe not all at once, but... no, it was more than clear, the boy—or young man—was moving forward with an agenda of his own. If Dumbledore wasn't careful, he'd be pushed out of the game altogether. Still...

“There is a memory I could show that might better pinpoint how many he may have made. If you would care to see it.”

“Whose memory?”

“The memory of our current Potions professor, Horace Slughorn. I daresay, you have not met him yet.”

“No, I haven't. Though, he's likely a far more suitable teacher than Professor Snape was. Have to wonder. Moving him to Dark Arts Defence, you know he won't return next year. The curse on the position and all...”

“Now Mr. Black, surely...”

Rasalas let out a snort.

“Come on, professor. I've checked. Not one professor named to the post has lasted a second year since sometime in the fifties... shortly after a certain Tom M. Riddle applied for the post. I would bet a bag full of galleons the position's been somehow cursed.”

“The young wizard does have a point,” spoke one of the portraits high up on the wall.

Dumbledore could only sigh, as he rose, and crossed over to a carousel of sorts that contained perhaps eight shelves. The carousel was filled with what was likely thousands of small vials exactly like the one containing the memory from Bob Ogden. He seemed to study it for a moment, before reaching out with his non-injured hand, and collecting one of them.

This memory was clearly altered, Rasalas quickly realized. It was a conversation between a young Tom Riddle, and a younger Horace Slughorn. Some parts of it were clear as day, while other parts of it were... cloudy, hazy. Muddled. However, the word 'Horcrux' most definitely came up on several occasions.

When they re-emerged from the pensieve, Dumbledore was once again quiet, expecting to hear Rasalas' thoughts on the matter.

“I'll need to see the memory again. Viviane may be able to help me, uh, recover the un-edited version.”

“Perhaps if you would simply speak to him...”

“Professor. You and I both know the man has his reasons for attempting to mask the true memory. Any attempt to speak to him on the matter would only leave him pissed at me, likely at you, and frankly, you can't afford to lose a professor this deep into the school year.”

“Of course. Though I would be very interested in seeing the original when you recover it. In the meantime.”

Dumbledore reached into his desk, producing both a ring and a familiar journal. He hesitated a moment, before sliding them across the desk... wasn't he forgetting something?

“The ring was recovered from the cottage the Gaunts lived in. Touching it resulted in this terrible injury,” said Dumbledore.

The instant Rasalas touched the ring, it was as if he were attacked by a surge of foreign memories—Riddle's memories. But of course. After all, magic did leave traces. Touched by a madman, the traces would be rather strong.

“Thank you for the insight, professor. I'll likely want to wait until after the holidays before pursuing this further.”

“Remember, though, Har—Rasalas, Tom is not waiting for anything or anyone.”

“I know that. Though I doubt a few weeks will make a lot of difference.”

“Will we see you for Christmas?”

“Perhaps. Though the Weasleys will be spending the holidays with us. Bill will likely come to the school and retrieve them rather than have them travel on the Hogwarts Express.”

“I'll make sure Professor McGonagall is aware.”

“Thank you, professor.”

Rasalas stood up.

“I wish you a happy Christmas, sir.”

“And likewise.”

Immediately on waking up, Rasalas sent a Patronus to Viviane, and only a short time later, they were reviewing the memory of the memory. It was a little fuzzier, given it was akin to a 'copy of a copy', but Viviane was able to get the gist of it, and more importantly, see what was wrong. Between the pair of them, they were able to recover the 'sluggish memory', and view the original, unclouded version.

Rasalas had to grin mentally as he once again woke from his trance. He'd travelled in between times, crossed hundreds of miles, all without even leaving the sanctuary. Magic was truly awesome at times!

“So what'd the old man want?” Brady asked. He was working at the large drawing table, his notebook open. Likely writing, then.

“Voldemort has made six Horcruxes. Two of them have been destroyed,” Rasalas answered, “One we know, leaving three others that we don't.”

“Tha's good, I guess.”

“Yeah. We're further ahead than we were an hour ago. Still. The monster's split his soul six times. I think once is horrible enough, so that speaks a lot about his character, or the lack thereof.”

“No shit.”

* * *

The following morning, Arthur, Rasalas, and Brady were woken by Ryan.

“Uh... guys... we need s-s-s-some help in the shop.”

“Wha... why?” Rasalas mumbled, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. It was difficult, as Arthur had one of his arms pinned under him.

“We got a foot of snow overnight, and it's s-s-still snowing.”

“So we need to clear the snow,” Rasalas guessed.

“Yeah, exactly. Oh. And d-dress warmly, it's really windy.”

Rasalas at last focused on the speaker, and couldn't help but grin. He was dressed in a one-piece snowsuit—though it looked a little old. Perhaps therein might be a perfect Christmas gift.

“What?” Ryan asked.

“Oh, nothing. Though, tell me, how many times have you been in swimming wearing that?”

“T-t-t-too many times to count.”

About fifteen minutes later, they were gathered in the commercial shop, with Rasalas simply providing a port key. Phil and Aaron were already at work, mounting a piece of equipment on the back of the diesel tractor.

“What is it?” Arthur questioned.

“Snow blower,” Ryan answered, “We do have a p-p-p-plow, but this is better in deeper snow.”

“And you use a different machine to power it? Cannot your steam tractor—”

“No. The steam tractor d-d-d-doesn't have the right... um...”

“It don' have the right connections,” Brady finished.

“Yeah, exactly. B-b-but anyway. We n-n-need to get out the smaller snow blower for the w-w-w-walkways. And once we're done, I'll ask D-d-da if we can bring out the snowmobile.”

The walk-behind snow blower was stored close to the tractor-mounted machine. After a quick inspection and a bit of maintenance, Rasalas helped Ryan to get it outside. Even though it was after 6 am, it was still dark, the stormy clouds not helping matters much. Ryan was not kidding about it being cold and windy, with a biting wind that sucked the breath out of them. Both Brady and Rasalas quickly boosted the warming charm they'd placed on their outfits. Brady thought for a moment, before touching a finger to his face, and an odd sort-of mask appeared that covered up both his nose and his mouth, along with his neck.

“What is that?” Rasalas wanted to know.

“Cold-weather mask,” came the muffled reply, “Hold still a 'sec.”

He touched Rasalas' face, and an identical mask appeared.

“Oh. Very nice.” The material inside was very soft against the skin, and he could tell there had also been a warming charm applied.

Seconds later, both Ryan and Arthur also sported masks.

“Thanks b-b-bro. Uh... so next thing...”

He pressed down on one of the levers, then pressed one of the buttons on the control stand, causing the motor to sputter to life. Arthur looked momentarily annoyed, until Brady flicked a hand at it, and the noise level lessened significantly.

“Was about to do the same thing,” Rasalas muttered, “Why is it that every one of these things has to be so noisy?”

“Ask the manufacturer,” Ryan muttered. “Okay. S-s-so this is how it works...”

The job took over two hours, with Brady being the only one not having a go with the machine, given he had more than enough experience with such things elsewhere—perhaps not a snow blower, but they did work very much like a lawnmower. It wasn't anything new and exciting in his books. Putting the machine away, Rasalas realized they could easily do it a second time, with the snow that had fallen since they'd started.

“Next time, let's just vanish the snow and save the trouble,” said Rasalas.

“This was a lesson,” said Arthur, “There are times when magic will not be possible, am I correct?”

“Yeah. Exactly,” said Ryan, “The business is open n-n-now... I mean, it's after nine o'clock, so officially w-w-we've been open since seven. If there's a c-c-customer...”

“Forgot about that.”

“Right. Help me get this p-p-put away, and we'll get the snowmobile out.”

“Hold up, son,” said Phil, joining them. “I think we might want to wait before bringing out the sled. It's a foot of snow, but the drifts are leaving a lot of exposed places.”

“Oh.” He was right, Ryan realized.

“Wait for another dumping of snow.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Rasalas smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: The Weasley children and Hermione join Rasalas for the holidays; the final public live-steam day of the year is held; An afternoon is spent skating, during which Rasalas and Arthur do something they've been trying to avoid for sometime; and with some extraordinary guests attending, a ritual is held to mark the Winter solstice..._


	37. Yule, 2006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Weasley children and Hermione join Rasalas for the holidays; the final public live-steam day of the year is held; An afternoon is spent skating, during which Rasalas and Arthur do something they've been trying to avoid for sometime; and with some extraordinary guests attending, a ritual is held to mark the Winter solstice..._

**220\. YULE, 2006  
December, 2006**

> “ _Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”_

  
_\- Hamilton Wright Mabi_   


* * *

The last day of term at Hogwarts had been on the 15 th . Bill had taken a port key to the school and collected both Ron and Ginny, as well as Hermione—she had written to her parents asking for permission. Rasalas had then sought out permission for her to be in the country, which had been easily granted. A brief reunion was had, but the three of them travelled by floo powder to visit the twins for the weekend, and so would join everyone on Monday.

There wasn't a whole lot of time to relax, as December 17 th was the last live steaming day of the year for the steam club. Therefore, Saturday was spent clearing the track. Thus far, old man winter had attacked with a vengeance, with two feet of snow down since late November.

The snow-clearing operation for the miniature railway involved a scale model of a railway snow blower, which was powered by a gas engine. Since the plow did not have its own motive power, it was then coupled to the front of the Y-6-b, which provided more than enough tractive effort.

It took several hours to complete the entire circuit. Sure, they could just use magic to vanish the snow, but it was about the operation, as it functioned exactly as the real-scale counterpart. Rasalas had seen CN clearing the mainline a week earlier after a snow, though in that instance it had been a wedge plow. According to Ryan, CN did not own rotary snow plow equipment anymore.

Rasalas caught on pretty quickly to Ryan's signals, but it was slow-going. The snow was in itself a foot and a half deep, but the drifts made it much worse in many places. In those instances, they would only be able to go a few feet before backing up and doing it a second time.

In a few instances, the shovels had to be brought out, since the drift had reached over five feet high. Quite literally, it was like passing through a canyon, the snow was so high.

Toward the end of it, Rasalas began vanishing some of the snow, to make things move a long a little quicker. Though he had driven the locomotive for the most part, he most certainly helped out when they needed to use shovels, and so was more than thankful when they at last pushed the equipment back into the storage shed and the shop for the night.

* * *

The live steaming day was as busy as it had been during the summer. There had been six locomotives, including the Sawyers' Y6B, and the enormous Selkirk. It made quite a sight, as they passed through the canyons cut through the snow. A large bonfire had been lit, and there was appropriate refreshments.

Given it was close to the holidays, there was hot apple cider, hot chocolate, Christmas cookies, and other holiday treats. One of the members had dressed up like Santa Claus, handing out small gifts to the number of children who attended. It had taken Rasalas about a minute to conjure a large Christmas tree, complete with lights and decorations. That, of course, had been done in the morning, before anyone arrived.

For this event, it was suggested that Arthur and his knights remain at Camelot, since there were a lot more cameras about, which increased the risk of discovery. Rasalas was disappointed with that, but knew it was best to err on the side of caution. Last thing he would need, was something happening to Arthur while he was visiting.

He was more than glad when the day was over, and the engine was once again put away. Far too many young children with no concept of the words, 'Do not touch', and 'Hot'. A more apt way to phrase it, the lack of common sense. One boy had nearly derailed the train, having dragged his feet rather than keeping them up on the foot rest as instructed. Phil had banned the boy from riding from then on. They did reserve the right and all that.

Driving the locomotive was fun, but dealing with annoying little brats really offset the entertainment value. If anything, Rasalas preferred his broom (and perhaps, a certain blond-haired man sitting behind him).

* * *

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny joined them Monday afternoon. Much as it had been during the summer, everyone took the same rooms, with Bill taking the room his parents had used. The twins, meanwhile, did not stay in the house, since they did have their own flat in Toronto. It was nothing for them to Apparate between the house and their shop, and Rasalas had given them Apparition rights.

With everyone settled, it was Ryan who came up with the perfect afternoon activity. “We sh-sh-should go skating.”

“And what might... skating... be?” Arthur wanted to know.

“Uh... hold on.” 

Ryan hurried through the door into his room back in the house. He was gone for a minute or so, returning with a pair of boots that had blades attached to them.

“Goodness... it's been years since I've done that,” said Hermione, “And... what about skates?”

“We can transfigure peoples' boots and shoes,” said Rasalas, “But... I've never gone... least as far as I know.”

“We'll teach you,” said Aaron. “And we'll need a good ice sheet.”

“Easy enough to do. And put up some kind of shield so it's not so cold. Running the train yesterday was evil sometimes,” Rasalas decided.

While Brady created the ice surface on the west side of the house—simply converting the piled up snow, Rasalas put up an invisible barrier that blocked the wind. Without, the wind would have been ferocious, considering the vast field extending west of the house. There had been no landscaping done with the house at all, and now, Rasalas regretted the neglect. A tree line to mark off the inner yard, and to act as a wind break would have been most useful. Perhaps a few evergreen trees.

Hearing what her son and his friends were up to, Casey coaxed Betty to join her in Rasalas' kitchen, baking up some treats and some warm drinks. It took no time for Dobby to get in on the action, while Kreacher continued to work on dinner. Corey, meanwhile, helped Phil bring a load of wood over so they could light a bonfire.

In some aspects, it was a rather comical afternoon. The twins seemed to have very poor coordination when it came to ice-skating for some reason. Odd, considering they were absolutely brilliant in the air. Ginny seemed to be a natural, and given Hermione had been on skates before, she held her own. Brady and his brother, meanwhile, could also hold their own, and if Rasalas had to guess, it was definitely not their first time.

As for Rasalas, Ron, Arthur, and his knights, they all made a passable effort, though the majority of the first hour seemed to be spent on their arses, rather than upright. Of course, it got somewhat easier, when Arthur decided to just lean on Rasalas... and if Rasalas were honest with himself, that was perfectly acceptable.

“Doing this back at Hogwarts would be brilliant,” Ron thought aloud. He and Hermione were again hand in hand, skating gentle laps around the ice surface. They'd pulled up beside Rasalas and Arthur.

“Talk to Professor McGonagall,” Rasalas suggested, “I think she's much more reasonable than Dumbledore ever was. And this... really, it's been a wicked idea. Doing it back at the school would do loads toward unity.”

“But the Slytherins...”

“Not all of them are bad, Ron. I mean... I think your current Potions professor was a Slytherin, and honestly guys... he has to be better than Snape ever was.”

“Oh, loads!” Ron quickly agreed, “Neville's not petrified about attending potions anymore for starters...”

“I think he probably taught Snape, y'know.”

“And Snape won't be back after the end of the year,” said Ron, happily, “No Dark Arts Defence professor ever lasted more than a year.”

“As I pointed out to the headmaster recently,” Rasalas agreed.

“It is a shame your school continues to employ such dreadful teachers,” said Arthur.

“Dumbledore,” said Rasalas, simply, “Everything falls back to Dumbledore and his self-centred point of view. And one day, there will be a reckoning. I know of a few rather disturbing truths about him that I will take distinct pleasure in airing in public.”

Arthur put an arm around Rasalas' shoulder. “Not today.”

“No. Not today. But eventually. Our little outing here today though. I think we will do it again. It's nothing to leave things as they are.”

“That would be awesome,” said Aaron, as he and Ryan pulled alongside on the opposite side. “We could dig out the net and play some pick-up hockey.”

“That Muggle sport you guys like,” Ron remembered.

“Go Leafs g-g-go,” said Ryan.

“No, Leafs suck,” Aaron answered, “Hawks rule and you know it.”

“Uh huh. 'an who got t-t-t-totally trashed last time they visited the ACC?”

“Chicago had an off-night,” said Aaron with a shrug, “More often than not the Leafs' net is better described as a red-light district.”

Rasalas furrowed his brows in confusion. “Do I really want to know?”

Hermione, meanwhile, looked scandalized. “Aaron!”

“What?” Aaron asked, innocently, “All I meant, is that... oh... uh... see, there's a light that comes on behind the net when there's a goal. Trust me it's not what you think it is.”

“Aaron's just b-b-being an ass.”

Aaron stuck his tongue out.

“Okay th-th-then.” 

Ryan proceeded to push Aaron into the snowbank at the edge of the ice surface. That turned into a wrestling match, where Aaron attempted to wash Ryan's face with snow, somewhat succeeding, Ryan getting revenge, then resorting to snowballs...

An errant projectile struck Fred by accident, but no opportunity was ever wasted when it came to the twins, and so they joined the fray, using their wands to conjure and fire snowballs back at the instigators. That then seemed to be the cue for things to completely degenerate into an all-out snowball fight.

The use of magic brought about some pretty elaborate fortifications, and some equally elaborate war machines, all built from ice and snow. Rasalas wasn't sure if he was impressed or terrified of Brady's creations—snowmen that quite literally stormed the battlefield, or the ice mortar which hurled foot-round snowballs.

Such projectiles were devastating against opposing fortifications, and one volley brought about a stoppage in the fight, as Aaron suffered from a sprained wrist. A healing charm applied, everything picked up right where they left off.

Rasalas, meanwhile, went with an old-fashioned catapult. Chunks of snow were summoned from a nearby snow drift, and when sent flying, it made for a rather startling explosion of frosty white powder.

Sometime later, after a particularly powerful double volley from both war machines, Ryan and the occupants of the opposing fort raised a white flag. The foot-round mortar had punched a hole through the fortification, while the shot from the catapult sent some of the combatants sprawling.

“Arthur, we conceded to your superior fire power,” came the voice of George.

“Rule Britannia,” Aaron shouted, “We surrender!”

“Good job everyone,” Rasalas smirked.

“Now that was fun!” Corey exclaimed.

“Not bad improvisation, yeah,” Rasalas agreed, “Not sure whether to be impressed or terrified though... holy Merlin...”

“Go big or go home,” said Brady, with a shrug.

“Such a contraption would be a most powerful thing on the battlefield,” said Arthur, as they began walking toward the side of the house, where refreshments had been set up.

“Mortars, y'mean? Yeah. Can take out a bunch 'a threats all at once. Bust through walls an' shit like that.”

“The catapult, meanwhile, that was pretty simple. I think there are better designs out there. But good for similar tactics. Putting holes in stuff, or hitting a bunch of enemies all at once,” said Rasalas.

“A real fight though... there's stuff I'd do that'd be more useful. Here I didn' wanna hurt anyone.”

Corey smirked. “Yeah, go an' blow stuff up, y'mean.”

Brady smirked right back. “Damn straight!”

The chairs had been brought around from the patio, and Phil had already lit the fire when they arrived. The sun was already low on the horizon, and only then did Rasalas realize they'd been out there all afternoon.

“Damn... we've been out here all afternoon.”

“T-t-t-time flies when we're havin' fun,” said Ryan. 

He gestured with a hand to resize the chair, but it took several tries before he got it. He and Aaron then occupied it.

“Been a blast though. We need to do this again.”

Rasalas could only nod, as he resized a seat for him and Arthur.

“My thoughts exactly. And since my training schedule is relaxed until the new year, there'll be plenty of chances.”

“Da says we can bring out the snowmobile now, too. W-w-w-with both our properties, it's enough to have a b-b-b-bit of fun.”

“What's a snowmobile?” asked Ron.

“It's a machine meant to drive on snow,” said Aaron, “It's a lot of fun to drive.”

“You guys go on the lake with it?” asked Corey.

“Not in recent years,” answered Phil, “The ice hasn't been thick enough. Lake Scugog north of here freezes over usually, but Lake Ontario's so big and so deep... it acts like a small ocean rather than a lake. Last time the lake completely froze was back in the thirties(1), if I remember correctly.”

“Know this much. Really likin' this magic thing,” said Corey, “We're out in the snow, an' I ain't freezin' my ass off.”

“I do agree,” said Accolon, “I have experienced dreadful cold living in North Wales. This would make it far more pleasant.”

“You know how to do it though,” said Rasalas.

“Though the snowball fight was entertaining, I enjoyed skating more,” Arthur confessed. “I share the sentiment that we must do it again.”

“Perhaps then, we should continue after we have dinner,” Lancelot suggested.

“Yeah, we could. Need to put up some lights though.”

“Oh. Th-th-that would be awesome. What if we got some Christmas lights?” Ryan suggested.

“We'll need some poles to string them from.”

“After,” said Arthur, “I would rest for a spell. There is no hurry.”

“Well, considering you guys are nearly on top of each other,” Aaron smirked.

“Piss off,” said Rasalas, though he smirked as he said it.

Aaron was dead on, though. Rasalas and Arthur were snuggled together on the double seat, with Arthur resting his head on Rasalas' shoulder.

Ron and Hermione were in a similar position, if perhaps not quite as close. Casey and her husband also shared a seat, their son having performed an enlargement charm on their seat, and as for Ryan and Aaron, they too, shared a seat. Everyone else took up single seats, though Brady, as was typical, sat close to Rasalas.

Dobby was once again in his element, serving the various treats and drinks that had been made earlier.

“Your island was really cool, Ras, but I think I like this better,” said Aaron.

“Yeah... d-d-doing the Solstice ritual where it was warm was w-w-weird.”

“Speaking of,” said Casey, “I hope all of you will join us.”

“I will speak to Morgaine; she will likely wish to attend,” said Arthur, “As will I.”

“And we would be honoured with her presence,” said Casey, “As much as we will be honoured by yours, sir.”

“Please. No need for formality here,” said Arthur. “Here, I am only Arthur Pendragon. Here, no crown weighs heavily on my head.”

“Just as here, I am only Rasalas Black. No titles, no burdens. Surrounded by those I love and care about.”

“What Christmas is about,” said Aaron, “Putting all that crap aside, just enjoying things that really matter. Hell, I even call my parents Christmas day.”

“Your mom 'an dad really hate 'ya?” Corey asked.

“Hate? No, I don't think so. They're... indifferent toward me.”

“How'd they treat your sister?”

Aaron frowned a moment, but then remembered Brady had been at the Samhain ritual. “Well... better than they treat me. Thing is, Carla died when she was three. She got meningitis, and... the doctors tried their best, but...”

Ryan pulled his boyfriend close.

“Didn' mean to...” Brady began, but Aaron waved him off.

“It's all right. I think... in some ways, maybe it was better she didn't grow up with... with them, right? Sounds cold, but...”

“We get it,” said Corey. “Ain't right though, your mom and dad treatin' 'ya that way.”

Aaron scowled. “Tell them that.”

After dinner was finished, the large group once again returned to the ice, though now Ryan had brought out his iPod and the portable stereo. As suggested, strings of Christmas lights were strung up, and if Rasalas had to admit, the night skate was far more magical than it had been in the afternoon. Corey had coaxed his mother to join them, and Rasalas had to grin, seeing her skating with Bill. Magic aside, she appeared to be enjoying herself.

Casey and Phil had retrieved skates of their own from their place, and now they made gentle laps around the ice surface, much as Rasalas and Arthur were doing. Aaron and Ryan, meanwhile, skated a little faster, and Rasalas was somewhat confused as to how they were paying attention, considering they faced each other most of the time, one skating backwards.

“Is that envy or jealousy?” Arthur smirked.

“Curiosity,” Rasalas answered, “They have more skill than we do, I'll say that much.”

Arthur licked his lips. “Kissing and skating at the same time, you mean.”

“Arthur...”

Arthur gave a sly grin, before giving a strong tug on Rasalas' arm, toppling them both over into the snowbank. Now Rasalas found himself on top of the man, their noses inches apart.

“Prat.”

“It was fun, now, admit it.”

“I'll never tell.”

Icy blue eyes stared into emerald green for what seemed like an eternity, before Arthur closed the distance, and their lips locked together. At first, Rasalas was startled at the overture, but... there it was. Out in the open. He wrapped an arm around Arthur, and pulled him closer, leaning into the kiss, the last resistance finally crumbling.

* * *

At dawn the morning of December 22, a large gathering stepped out into the yard at Rasalas' place. It was already light, though the sun had still not breached the horizon. It was clear and bitterly cold, with a biting wind, but strong warming charms easily counteracted it. They made their way through the snow to the opposite side of the copse of trees that formed a wind break, separating the yard from the field. Phil had already cleared a large space in the snow, likely the previous afternoon.

Along with Brady, Corey, Arthur, Lancelot, and Accolon, Morgaine had once again joined them. Bill also joined them, as did Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins. For Casey, it had to be the largest gathering ever to join her Yule celebrations.

They at last stopped in the cleared spot just south of the wind break, and Casey produced a large, fat, yellow candle.

“Ryan, Aaron, if you will both hold the candle, we can begin.”

She indicated they stand opposite one another, then handed the candle to her son. He gripped it above, while Aaron gripped it below. She then thought a moment.

“Morgaine, you would honour us by standing at centre, directly behind Ryan and Aaron.”

“Of course.”

Morgaine did as asked.

“Everyone else, if you would form a semi-circle around us, with the open side to the south. King Arthur, I would have you stand so you are directly behind your sister.”

It took only a few seconds for everyone to get organized. Rasalas hurriedly took up a place beside Arthur on his left (with Brady and Corey immediately to Rasalas' left), while Lancelot took his right.

“Now we join hands...”

As they joined hands, Casey produced a box of matches, and struck one. She lit the candle Ryan and Aaron were holding, saying:

“ _Even in the darkest hours,_  
 _even in the longest nights,_  
 _the spark of life lingered on._  
 _Laying dormant, waiting, ready to return_  
 _when the time was right._  
 _The darkness will leave us now,_  
 _as the sun begins its journey home."_

The eastern horizon was getting brighter and brighter, as she then spoke,

“ _As the sun breaches the horizon,_  
 _we think back to the year that has come and gone;_  
 _all of the people who have come into our lives,_  
 _and all of those who have left us behind._  
 _We then think of all the gifts and lessons,_  
 _all the things the great mother presented us with;_  
 _and as the wheel turns once more,_  
 _we give thanks for the clean slate,_  
 _the promise of things anew."_

They stood silently once more, with only the sound of the wind whistling through the trees and their leafless limbs, the eastern horizon continuing to brighten. Casey's words had hit home for Rasalas, as indeed, the year had presented great changes for him.

Who would have thought, that he would fall in love with the legendary king Arthur, never mind become friends with a number of his knights? Thinking back, that had to be perhaps the most noteworthy change of the year.

Then there was his second love in Brady—though it was somewhat different than what he was now feeling for Arthur. Rasalas did not consider his relationship with Brady anything romantic... it was far deeper. It was likely a connection both would take to their graves.

The sun at last breached the horizon, and though squinting fiercely, Morgaine pressed her thumbs to her forehead and bowed her head. Casey, meanwhile spoke,

“ _The light of the sun has returned to us,_  
 _bringing life and warmth with it._  
 _The shadows will vanish, and life will continue._  
 _We are blessed by the light of the sun."_

* * *

With the number of people, breakfast was held in the sanctuary. The candle lit during the ritual was placed at the centre of the table, which was filled with enough food to feed everyone present several times over. Rasalas had asked the elves not to go overboard, but it was still a lot of food. Perhaps he could send the leftovers down to the castle.

“The Goddess loved your ceremony, Casey,” said Morgaine.

“I was wondering... you have a statue to the Goddess at Avalon, is that right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I would like to make an offering. If I send it with my son, would that be permitted?”

“I think we could do one better, and have you make the offering yourself.”

Casey looked elated, while Arthur furrowed his brows.

“Sister, won't aunt Viviane be cross?”

“Avalon is a sacred place, but not strictly off limits, Art. The Goddess will make exception for a dedicated follower from these times. When we finish here, why don't you collect your offering? If Rasalas is willing to make a port key, we might all attend.”

“Ma, will you be okay with us having d-d-dinner here? I'm guessing everyone's gonna want to join us again.”

“It's perfectly fine,” answered Casey, “As cozy as our house is, it's never been fit for having a large crowd. As long as you're okay with us once again invading your home, Mr. Black.”

“It's perfectly fine, Mrs. Sawyer. It means room for everyone, and I mean, if it's a bit tight, I can always change things and make it bigger.”

“Th-thing is, if we're gonna have our celebration here... Ras... you need your own altar.”

“Altar... oh, right,” Rasalas realized, having seen the Sawyers' altar.

“Not that we would pressure you,” said Casey.

“I declared myself a champion of the Goddess. If that doesn't make me one of her followers, I don't know what does. I'll need a little help though, I wouldn't have a clue about making an altar.”

“We'll help you,” Casey offered.

“And it should be made manually, do not use magic,” Morgaine added.

“Oh. Right.”

“You'll need a table. I would suggest something that's been in your family a long time. It would function as a connection to your past, but—“

“Kreacher,” Rasalas called.

The elf entered from the kitchen. “Master Rasalas call for Kreacher?”

“I need your help with something. Particularly, I need a small table—an end table. Do I have anything like that, in either the Black or Potter vault?”

“There may be.”

“Could you have a look for me? I'm not looking for anything large.”

“Kreacher will begin looking at once.” He popped away.

Rasalas thought a moment.

“He'll likely be a while. So with the table solved, what next?”

“You've seen the cloth we have on ours. Something that would match the season,” said Casey.

“Then it's n-n-nuts, evergreen branches, s-s-stuff to represent the sun, I mean, it's your altar, so think of s-s-stuff that fits the season, right?”

“You should have at least one candle that represents the sun,” said Casey, indicating the fat yellow candle that still burned at the centre of the table.

“W-w-we can even put a bowl of snow on the altar to represent winter—“

“We'd have to put a freezing charm on the bowl though,” said Rasalas, “Or it'll just melt. Unless magic isn't allowed.”

“Not too much. The alter is about real constructs,” said Casey, “So I wouldn't put anything that's made with magic on it.”

Immediately following breakfast, Casey collected a few things off their altar, and the large group took a port key to Avalon. There, with a number of priestesses of the holy isle looking on, Casey left her offering at the foot of the statue of the Goddess. The offering included two lit candles, one red, the other green, a bowl of nuts, a golden yellow disc, and a spruce bough.

Then, with Ryan clasping a hand in hers, they stood and bowed their heads in respect.

Casey spoke, “Thank you, Goddess, for allowing us to visit you here. Though you touch our lives every day and every season with your gifts, it is a privilege to stand before you here.”

“Thank you Goddess,” said Ryan, “For the gifts I have d-d-discovered this year, as well as the new faces that have came into my life. I look forward to the gifts and challenges you will present me with in the c-c-coming seasons.”

Now, it was Rasalas' turn to speak.

“Thank you, Goddess, for placing me on the path I am supposed to follow, and for the new faces and challenges that have entered my life this year. I look forward to the coming year, and both the gifts—and the challenges you will send my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Christmas is celebrated in the sanctuary, with Ryan receiving something that winds his mother up a bit; and Rasalas and his friends receive an invitation to attend a New Year's Ball at Hogwarts..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: (1) Last time Lake Ontario froze over completely was the winter of 1933-34._


	38. Christmas, 2006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Christmas is celebrated in the sanctuary, with Ryan receiving something that winds his mother up a bit; and Rasalas and his friends receive an invitation to attend a New Year's Ball at Hogwarts..._

**221\. CHRISTMAS, 2006  
December, 2006**

> “ _One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don't clean it up too quickly.”_

  
― _Andy Rooney_  


* * *

The afternoon was passed setting up an altar in the main room. Casey donated another large pillar candle, while Ryan and Aaron helped Rasalas to collect other things to surround it with. In the end, it turned out rather similar to the altar in Ryan's house, but that was perfectly okay for a first try. Kreacher had done fabulously, finding a table from storage in the Black vault, which was the ideal size and shape. Rasalas figured it came from the eighteenth century.

Some items required a trip to Simcoe Crossing, such as the acquisition of a cloth. Most other items, meanwhile, had been easy to obtain closer to home. After all, the idea was to decorate the altar with mostly natural items.

Finally, the large group once again gathered in the dining room for the Yule feast. The candle they had lit during the ritual at sunrise still burned brightly, and with the lights dimmed, it was joined by a throng of other candles. Phil had not joined them at breakfast, but was now present, as they gathered around the table.

“Join hands.”

The gathering did as Casey asked.

“Great mother of the earth, blessed father of men. As the wheel once again turns, and the light returns to us, we thank you for the abundance of food that graces our table. We again thank you for the wonderful gifts you have given us over the past year, and look forward to your blessings in the new. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be,” said most.

“Amen,” said Brady, Corey, and their mother.

Rasalas had not known how to respond, and so had been caught off guard, but smiled anyway, as they took their seats. Now, everyone fell silent as they enjoyed the wonderful meal. Both Dobby and Kreacher had been busy all day, with Casey pitching in periodically, in between helping Rasalas out with his altar. Mostly, however, it had been the elves, and as always, the meal turned out fantastic.

“Hmmm... y'know, Ryan, we could just cast an enlargement charm on your seat, since the pair of you seem to be sharing just about everything else,” said Bill, smirking.

That drew a snort from Ryan, who almost choked on a piece of turkey, and Aaron nearly sprayed the table with a mouthful of beer.

“Well. If you're gonna bug us, then what about those two?”

Aaron jokingly pointed a finger at Rasalas and Arthur, sitting directly across.

“What do you mean?” asked Rasalas, looking confused.

Arthur too, appeared confused. It was then they looked at each other, and noticed they were in fact, almost as close together as Aaron and Ryan.

“Um, well…” Harry shifted his chair, suddenly feeling very warm about the ears and face.

“You're giving the tablecloth a run for its money, mate,” Ron teased.

Rasalas only grinned madly, before seizing Arthur's face, and locking lips together.

Ryan, meanwhile, smirked, before seizing Aaron in a similar manner, and snogging him senseless.

“Good grief,” Casey muttered, “Boys! Enough.”

“Blame th-th-them, Ma,” Ryan smirked, as they came up for air.

“Yes, you two as well.”

Cai, Lancelot, and Accolon, meanwhile, shared grins of their own. Their king was happy again, and this was all that mattered.

Rasalas cleared his throat. “Well... let's finish up and retreat to the common area, so Dobby and Kreacher can clean up.”

“I insist on—“

“Mrs. Sawyer, I insist you take a rest as well. The elves are more than capable.”

“I just feel...”

“Ma, really.”

“If you're sure.”

* * *

The following afternoon, a tawny owl arrived, delivering a letter written with familiar emerald-coloured ink. Rasalas quickly read it, looking thoughtful. He set the letter aside, before going over to the fireplace, and tossing a pinch of floo powder into the grate. “Hogwarts, Deputy Head!” he called out, before sticking his head in the fire.

“What's going on?” Ron asked, from the dining room. Lunch had finished not long before, but Ron was only then finishing.

“No clue,” said Ryan. He and Aaron were at one of the small tables, playing some sort of game on Aaron's laptop.

Both Brady and his brother occupied chairs in a corner, and though Brady did have his guitar out, they were speaking in low tones.

Arthur and a cluster of his knights, meanwhile, had gathered in the dining room now that lunch had finished. Arthur, however, looked up, hearing Rasalas activate the fire.

Rasalas at last pulled his head out of the fire, and stepped back. Moments later, the flames roared green, and a tall, stern-looking witch stepped out of them. She was dressed in a dark robe, wore square glasses, and her hair, which was mostly dark with a few specs of grey, was tied up in a tight bun.

“Professor McGonagall,” Rasalas greeted.

“Mr. Black. A happy Yule to you.”

“Likewise. Come have a seat and I'll make proper introductions.”

The deputy headmistress chose one of the comfortable chairs and took a seat, and that was the cue for Ryan and Aaron to put an end to their game and join them. Arthur, too, separated from his group, though he pulled Accolon and Lancelot along.

“Professor. First, my new Canadian friends, Ryan and Aaron. They're neighbours. You've already met Brady here, but this is his brother, Corey. Secondly, I introduce Arthur, Lancelot, and Accolon. I'm sure you can figure out who they really are.”

“My word...”

“Friends. Professor Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. She also teaches Transfiguration, one of the core magical subjects, as you already all know.”

“It is a privilege, madam,” said Arthur, with an incline of the head.

“Likewise. I can only imagine the tale behind your meeting. It can only happen to you, Mr. Black,” said McGonagall.

“I promise, it is indeed quite a tale,” Rasalas answered, as she continued to shake hands with the others present.

That finished, she said, “Mr. Black, you do remember the Yule ball of two years ago?”

“Uh... somewhat. Ron has shared a few pensieve memories,” Rasalas answered.

“Professor Dumbledore has decided to host a New Year's Ball, and I have been asked to extend an invitation to you and your group. As was the rule previously, anyone in fourth year and above is able to attend. Additionally, the invitation has been extended to a number of Hogwarts alumni, that being the secondary reason for the invitation.”

“The one thing that discourages me from agreeing, is Dumbledore. To me, this smells like another attempt to get me back in his clutches. That's not ever going to happen.

“So. The only way we'll be attending, is if we have an iron-clad promise from him, in writing, that he will not interfere with us in any way, shape or form. That, of course, will extend to anyone who is working on his behalf.”

“I'll have you know, Mr. Black, I was most certainly opposed to a number of things Albus has done with regard to your care and treatment, both long past and more recent. If you require a magical contract from the headmaster, I'll see about obtaining it.”

“Great. So guys, what do you think?”

“Long as Dumbledore stays away from us? Count me in,” said Aaron “It would be pretty cool to meet a few more of your classmates, right?”

“Though it might not be a good idea for Arthur to attend,” said Hermione, “If it gets out who he really is...”

“I think we're pretty good at disguises and misdirection charms, Hermione,” said Rasalas. He glanced at Arthur. “Care to join me and perhaps stir the pot a little?”

“You have me lost, Ras.”

“Oh. Break a lot of hearts,” Rasalas clarified, smirking.

“Break the hearts of potential suitors, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Now, McGonagall knew what Rasalas was talking about. The interaction between the pair was certainly not lost on her.

“Good grief, Mr. Black.”

Rasalas could only smirk again. Oh, this would be some truly amazing entertainment.  _Poor Rita_ , she would likely have a stroke by the end of the night—if she attends, that is!  _The boy-who-lived is a_ pouf _...and_ taken _! The world's coming to an end!_ And Rasalas collapsed in a fit of laughter that had everyone confused.

* * *

_December 25, 2006_

Though the Sawyers didn't outright celebrate Christmas, they did exchange gifts, and since there were others in the sanctuary that most certainly did celebrate the Christian holiday, this would be done in the main room. Rasalas had asked the sanctuary to provide an appropriate Christmas tree the day before, and was more than pleased with the result. For the first time, he would celebrate the holiday in his own home.

So it was, early that morning, the sun having not yet breached the horizon, that Ron barged into Rasalas' room.

“Wake up, it's—“

He stopped dead, as not one, but two heads popped up from under the covers. He then had to duck as a bolt of magic shot from the opposite side of the room to impact with the door frame.

“Get... out...” came Brady's sleepy voice. 

He'd moved back to his own bed, seeing Rasalas and Arthur's relationship developing into something more intimate. He'd offered to move out of the room altogether, but Rasalas strongly protested against it, simply erecting a partition that would give them privacy when necessary.

“Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, you might want to knock, next time,” said Arthur, sleepily, while Rasalas glared at his friend.

“No, we'll just put a locking charm on the door. I mean, we _could_ have been doing something other than sleeping.”

Ron felt his face get hot. Right. Too much information.

“Err... I'll just...” He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Rasalas couldn't help but laugh.

“He should know by now I'm not sleeping alone,” he finally managed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. He grinned. “C'mon, guys, let's get up.”

“Yeah, I'm up. Shit, slept in on Christmas,” Brady muttered. He flicked a hand at himself, instantly changing into sweat pants and a tank top, along with a pair of sandals.

Rasalas did the same thing, also going for something comfortable. He did throw on the jumper Mrs. Weasley had knit him the previous Christmas, out of tribute to the woman.

Arthur, meanwhile, was forced to dress without magic. Rasalas could tell it frustrated him that he was unable to do so much of what Rasalas and Brady did so effortlessly. Perhaps he needed to have a word with Bill and see about possible curses or magical blocks. There was such a thing, right?

Now the pair faced each other.

“Happy Christmas, Arthur.”

“And a happy Christmas to you, Rasalas.”

Rasalas smiled, and their lips met. It had been a crime to deny such feelings for as long as he'd done. Now, he was wasting no time catching up. It seemed, everything felt... lighter.

They were momentarily startled, as Brady joined their hug.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, simply.

“And to you, Mr. Gibson,” said Arthur.

“Err... what he said,” Rasalas grinned.

After a light breakfast, the sanctuary's occupants gathered in the common room for the gift exchange. With the number of people present, it amounted to a rather large pile of presents beneath the tree. Hermione had left a number of gifts before leaving by port key back to her parents' place the previous day. Though she would have liked spending Christmas with her friends, her family came first, and Rasalas most certainly understood that. Percy had likewise passed on his regrets, wishing to spend the holiday with Penelope Clearwater, his long-time girlfriend. Bill suspected there would be some sort of engagement in the near future.

Both Casey and Phil made themselves comfortable on one of the couches, still only dressed in their bedclothes and housecoats. Ryan and Aaron, meanwhile, took up another couch, and like the rest of the sanctuary's occupants, they had actually dressed. Christmas or not, the sanctuary did have a somewhat open-door policy with the two places it was connected to.

Brady had met up with his brother and mother, and with Christmas greetings out of the way, they took up a couch of their own. It seemed Betty was becoming more and more accepting of the magical environment. Good on her, Rasalas thought.

Since McGonagall now had Rasalas' floo address, she had sent through a stack of gifts and cards from his friends at the school. The cards all went up on the fireplace mantle, and some items he'd gotten, he shared with the others in the sanctuary.

Neville's gift had been brilliant: a potioneer's compendium, which provided lots of handy hints and instructions for brewing, and a cross-reference to many plants and herbs, with their suggested uses. 'Should have had something like that back in first year,' Rasalas muttered in his head.

Luna had sent him a carton of chocolate frogs. Arthur had been rather startled when he opened one, and the confectionery inside hopped away. Rasalas couldn't help but laugh, knowing of his first experience with them.

“The magic only gives them one good leap. Lucky for you. I mean, first time I opened one, it was on the train. Bloody thing escaped out the window.”

“Really?”

“I was there,” said Ron. “Oh. Bertie Botts. Arthur, Brady, you guys must try one of those!”

“What are they?” asked Arthur.

“Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans. Watch it, they do mean _every_ flavour.”

it was then Rasalas was treated to a flash-memory: recovering in the hospital wing after the rubbish surrounding the Philosopher's Stone in first year. He gave a wicked grin.

“Back in first year, when I was recovering in the hospital wing, Dumbledore got an earwax flavoured one. I think it would have been more amusing had it been dog poop though. Oh. And he did confirm there's a vomit-flavour.”

“That doesn't sound appetizing,” said Cai. He was seated in a single chair, content to make up to a mug of strongly flavoured coffee.

“Puke 'an dog shit? Pass,” said Brady, looking disgusted, as he pulled his hand back out of the box.

“Well...” Ginny began.

“Honestly, we don't know(1),” said Ron, with a shrug.

“How about one of these?” said Fred, smirking.

“Oh. From Hagrid. His famous—or infamous rock cakes. Watch your teeth on those,” said Ron, as Arthur took one from the tin. 

He tried to take a bite from it, and only succeeded in nearly breaking his front teeth. He glared at everyone for the effort.

“Why on earth would someone bake something so awful?”

“It's Hagrid. He only means well,” said Rasalas, “We don't have the heart to tell him his cooking is poor.”

He grinned.

“Hagrid was my first friend ever in the Wizarding world; I'll have to introduce the lot of you.”

“Though we'd have to be careful, Ras. Hagrid can't keep a secret to save his life.”

Rasalas let out a chuckle. “Very true. Though honestly, without him letting a bunch of secrets out, we wouldn't have solved the big mystery during our first year—oh!”

Rasalas had opened another medium-sized package, to find a pair of boots. Dragon leather, he realized.

“If they don't fit, we can exchange them,” said Bill, “The leather is rather resistant to magic.”

“I know. Thank you.”

He pulled them out of the box, and slipped them on.

“Well?”

“They're perfect,” Rasalas answered. He looked rather comical, considering what he was already wearing.

“They do look smashing,” Arthur agreed, as he (with a little difficulty) summoned a box from behind the tree, “They might go well with this.”

Rasalas expertly caught the box, which was a little larger. He arched an eyebrow, but pulled off the wrapping and opened it.

“Oh my...”

He pulled out a set of armour that looked very much like Cai's.

“It was not difficult to note your envy of my armour, Rasalas,” said Cai, giving a wry smile, “Our smithy obliged in making a duplicate. If it doesn't fit—“

“This, we can make it fit easy enough,” answered Rasalas, as he pulled the cuirass on, “This is wicked, thank you very much!”

“We will have to get you a proper tunic so the outfit would be complete. Though I believe the pair of footwear Mr. Weasley has given you match it nicely,” said Lancelot, appraising the new equipment. Rasalas still looked rather goofy, considering the rest of his outfit.

“Thank you. It's wicked,” said Rasalas, sitting back down beside Arthur.

“Uh... my turn,” said Brady, summoning a box from under the tree. He directed it toward Rasalas, who easily caught it.

Rasalas opened it, momentarily confused until...

“Oh. These are... chaps, right?”

“Yeah. Was debatin' gettin' 'ya full leathers, but...”

“No, these are awesome. Uh... you'll show me how they go on, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Rasalas only grinned again, before summoning a smaller package, and sending it toward Ginny.

“You should find this rather helpful, rather than having to borrow from Luna.”

Ginny opened the small package, to find a letter of credit.

“Harry—Rasalas, no, I can't—“

“Ginny. Get yourself a new wardrobe. It's the least I can do. You don't have to spend it all on clothes, so treat yourself. I insist.”

“How... how much is it worth?”

“It should be listed at the top... a thousand galleons, if I remember.”

Ginny put the package down, got up, and gave Rasalas a kiss on the cheek, causing him to blush.

“Careful, Gin-Gin,” said Fred.

“You may make his majesty jealous,” George finished. Both twins were grinning madly.

“Oh. Speak of the twin mischief-makers supreme,” said Rasalas, summoning a pair of packages, “You both should get a laugh out of these.”

Both twins opened the offered gifts, and immediately started whispering excitedly between themselves. Bill could only shake his head, having a good idea of what Rasalas had given them.

“Mum's likely cursing you a blue streak from the other side about now, Ras,” said Bill, finally.

Rasalas could only grin again. “The world needs to laugh, with all the dark nonsense swirling around us.”

He summoned a pair of packages, and sent them toward Ryan and Aaron. They were quickly opened, revealing identical dark hooded zip-up jumpers.

“Sweet!” said Ryan, as he slipped his on.

“Thanks, man,” said Aaron, more than content to set it aside with the growing stack of presents.

“Right. How about these?” Rasalas summoned two more packages and sent them over to the pair. More clothes—a pair of dark work pants and a pair of long shorts for Ryan, and something similar for Aaron. In his case, they were camouflage—white, black, and grey pattern, both for pants and shorts.

“These won't stay clean very long though... but thanks.”

“You'll learn the cleaning spell soon enough,” Rasalas promised, “Besides, Ryan already knows it.”

Rasalas grinned mischievously. “Right. I think I've got one more for Ryan... ah. Here it is.”

He summoned another larger-sized gift, and sent it toward Ryan. Ryan opened it, and grinned madly, as he pulled out the item: a heavy snowsuit. It was a single piece, with a zipper that travelled up the left leg, then up the centre to the neck. It was black, save for the trim and the forearms, which were yellow.

“Aaron actually helped me with this one, since I'm still a bit new to _eBay_ and all that rot. In the spring, when we re-open the pool, you can baptize it then,” Rasalas promised. “Of course, it's also meant for the cold... I do know it gets pretty cold here during the winter—the weather so far being proof enough.”

Ryan looked like he'd just gotten another present, while Casey gave a pained look at the idea.

Arthur reached over and felt the heavy fabric.

“Being able to swim in such a thing, there are advantages. Realize, what would happen, should we be in combat around the water. I would assume, you have been in the water wearing something like this.”

“He has,” said Casey, again pursing her lips.

“When we resume swordsmanship after your holiday, young wizard, you will be learning to fight in the water, wearing _that_.” Arthur gestured to the heavy suit. “Your chamber here can produce a suitable lake or pond, can it not?”

“Likewise, Rasalas, you will learn wearing your new armour.”

“Arthur does carry point, lady Sawyer,” said Cai, “Being able to overcome the additional weight of wet equipment will mean the difference between surviving or not.”

This had Ryan grinning madly. “And y-you thought my... habit was ridiculous, Ma.”

* * *

The following day, as Rasalas already knew, was also a holiday in Canada: Boxing Day, such as it was in the U.K. The day was spent back at the Sawyers', as Ryan tried out his new suit—the weather most certainly called for it. The day's high temperature had reached a balmy minus twenty-one degrees Celsius (minus five degrees Fahrenheit, for those on the old scale), and the wind-chill values made it feel much, much, colder. So yes, the suit was more than useful, as they steamed the Y6B.

For Rasalas, it was yet another experience as far as driving the locomotive went. In such cold, the machine was a different beast, as was the track. The steam being blasted up the chimney came out in clouds, with the air being so cold. Phil had once again taken some amazing pictures that would be posted on the club's website.

That evening, there was more food, and more drink, as everyone warmed up from the afternoon's activity. Ryan cuddled up against Aaron in their usual spot, with Ryan still in his suit, though he'd pulled out of the upper part of it. Aaron, meanwhile, had removed his outer gear—a pair of Carhartt bibs and a heavy maroon army parka. Dobby had already taken the items and stowed them away.

Arthur and Rasalas, meanwhile, were cuddled on a couch across from them. Given Phil had been taking pictures, Rasalas had transfigured the knights' clothing into stuff that was more period-appropriate, and applied strong warming charms. He realized that perhaps he might have to consider getting them all warmer gear, if they were to spend more time outside the Sawyers'.

“You appear lost in thought,” said Arthur.

“Somewhat. If you guys will be joining us outside at Ryan's, I'm going to have to get you warmer gear. Bloody hell, still can't believe how cold that was today.”

“I was p-p-perfectly warm today,” Ryan grinned, “Thanks again for this.”

“Knew you'd like it.”

“M-my old one would probably fit Arthur, b-b-but it's not as warm as this one.”

“No, if I get these guys warmer gear, it'll be like the one you're wearing.”

“Though might be a thought to keep that stuff here,” said Aaron, “And tomorrow, I insist we spend it somewhere warm, maybe in Brady's preserve or whatever, rather than freezing our nut sack off.”

Ginny looked scandalized, while Rasalas couldn't help but burst out laughing.

“Aw come on, Gin, not like you've not heard bad language before,” Fred teased.

Rasalas could only grin further. There was no such thing as virgin ears present, no matter how much Mrs. Sawyer wished it so... speaking of whom...

“Ryan, where's your mum?”

Ryan took a drink of beer and answered, “With Da. They're watching the hockey game.”

“Hockey... oh, right. Some tournament,” Rasalas remembered. “Don't you watch it?”

“He gets too into it,” Aaron answered before Ryan could, “He starts throwing things at the T.V. if things they play like shit.”

Rasalas let out a chuckle.

“A little out of character for the normally reserved ginger you are,” he smirked, “I've got difficulty picturing that.”

“Fuck off.” Ryan smirked as he said it though.

“What kind of tournament?” asked Ron.

“Younger players, under twenty. It's like a Boxing Day tradition here in Canada,” answered Aaron, “Ten teams compete for the title... finishes on January fifth. We've done pretty well in recent years.”

Ryan simply held out a hand over his head. A few seconds later, a red-coloured shirt zoomed into it. It had a maple leaf on the front with a silhouette of a hockey player over it in white. The left side of the leaf was red, while the right side was black, and it was outlined with white. The word 'CANADA' was written below it. As far as he could tell, there was no name or number on it. He slipped the jersey on over his head and put his arms in the sleeves. It was ridiculously large on him.

“What?”

“It looks more like a tent than a shirt, mate,” Ron answered, before Rasalas could.

“Well, I usually have a hoodie under it, so I got it double extra l-large.”

“Oh. Makes sense then.”

“Makes it easier to do this though,” Aaron smirked, and Ryan yelped as Aaron did something the others couldn't see. That resulted in the pair closing the gap between them, and pressing their lips together.

“What goes for the goose...” And Rasalas did the same to Arthur.

The evening passed with plenty more food and drink... perhaps more drink than food, with Aaron's computer providing the music. Both he and Ryan were by this point dancing to the beat, with Ryan finally shedding his suit. If Rasalas had to admit, the music had a pretty good beat to it, but... it was still a little strange.

“C'mon you pair, c-come join us,” Ryan coaxed them.

“I've got two left feet,” Rasalas admitted.

“Just go with it! You'll do great!” Aaron answered.

So it was, that Rasalas and Arthur joined the pair, dancing to the crazy beat. That opened the door to the others joining in, and in the blink of an eye, the furniture was adjusted to accommodate, with everything being pushed off to the side.

* * *

Sometime later, Rasalas woke to find himself still in Arthur's arms, cuddled up on the couch in front of the fire. The music was still on, but turned down low, and the lights had been put out, so the room was barely lit with the light from the fire, and lights coming from the dining room and the corridor leading to the rooms.

Someone—either Dobby or Kreacher—had covered them with a heavy quilt. Strange... he was confused, finding that he now wore Ryan's jersey. How'd that happen? It was a nice shirt... maybe he might ask Ryan or Aaron to order one for him and he pay them back. The  _eBay_ thing was still... weird.

Speaking of the pair, they were snuggled up on their own couch, also sound asleep, and also covered by a heavy quilt. The pair just fit together, it was that simple. He would be attending their bonding ceremony, that much was for certain. First loves didn't usually work out, but these two were making an exception.

He blew out a breath, feeling Arthur shift and let out a snort. He didn't wake, so Rasalas again retreated to his thoughts. The next big issue, was New Year's, and the ball at Hogwarts. What was the dress code again? Bugger it, they would go as they wished, and if Dumbledore didn't like it, well... they could simply have their own party in the sanctuary. The dancing earlier... it had been nice, something he'd definitely do again. No matter what, it had been an excellent Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas and his friends attend the New Year's Eve ball at Hogwarts; a former school enemy might become an important ally; and an event unfolding at the English ministry of magic has everyone scrambling..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: With it being two days until Christmas, I would like to wish all of my readers a Happy Christmas, and a Happy New Year. This will be the last chapter to be posted until early January, so all the best, and see all of you in the new year._
> 
> _(1) Really. There's no actual listing of every flavour there is. And considering Dumbledore did get an earwax flavoured one, and confirms a vomit-flavoured one, who's to say there aren't flavours that are much worse? I think they're somewhat meant as a prank candy as much as anything._


	39. The New Year's Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas and his friends attend the New Year's Eve ball at Hogwarts; a former school enemy might become an important ally; and an event unfolding at the English ministry of magic has everyone scrambling..._

**221\. THE NEW YEAR'S BALL**  
December, 2006 / January 2007 

> “ _Going so soon? I wouldn't hear of it. Why my little party's just beginning.”_  
> 

  
_\- Wicked Witch of the West, The Wizard of Oz_   


* * *

When they at last woke, Ryan was more than amused, seeing Rasalas wearing his jersey.

“Uh, how did this happen, anyway?”

“You guys had already c-c-crashed, and we... we got a bit carried away,” said Ryan, feeling his face get hot.

Rasalas glanced at the floor, and only now noticed both Ryan and Aaron's pants were on the floor.

“Still doesn't explain how I ended up wearing your shirt. Unless...” Rasalas furrowed his brows, still confused.

“Better question, do you like it?”

“Hmm... yeah. I was thinking about that when I woke up briefly earlier. Since I'm officially a Canadian citizen and all... where did you get this?”

Ryan only grinned.

Several hours and nearly three hundred Canadian dollars later, Rasalas was the proud owner of his own Team Canada jersey. The trip into a sports shop in downtown Toronto had been a bit of an adventure, as Ryan and Aaron took their time looking around. On Ryan's suggestion, Rasalas had gotten the shirt an extra size larger, so he could put a jumper under it. It was a good idea, though there was the option of just casting an enlargement charm on it.

Back at the sanctuary, the discussion then centred on what they would be wearing to the ball.

“It has to be formal,” said Bill, “Your best.”

“Which is exactly why I won't be,” answered Rasalas, as he pulled on his new jersey. “I'm thinking about wearing this, actually, if not my new armour. If only to drive the purebloods bonkers. So, completely non-magical. No robes.”

“You're twisted, mate,” Ron grinned.

“C'mon. We'll get to see Dumbledore's patented, 'I'm disappointed in you' look. And at worst, they'll just send us home. It won't be that big a loss if he does. We might get a promise for him not to be an arse, but knowing how he works, there's no guarantee.”

“You'll probably get a few looks from some of the Muggleborn people too,” said Aaron.

“Oh, yeah, definitely. Seeing me wearing this, it'll likely put more than a few people in a right twist.”

“Hmmm... d'you trust me?” asked Aaron. “I got an idea.”

* * *

_December 31, 2006_  
 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry_

Just before 6 pm local time, Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, Aaron, Arthur, Lancelot, Accolon, and Cai arrived by port key just outside the castle's main entrance. Bill had taken Ron, Ginny, and the twins to the school by a port key of their own.

No surprise, the weather in northern Scotland was just as brutal as in southern Ontario, with a biting wind ripping at them, practically stealing their breaths away.

“Glad to see we're not the only ones getting our asses handed to us by old man winter,” Aaron muttered, as they made for the massive doors to the castle.

“It's actually worse sometimes,” said Rasalas, remembering years past.

“Come, let us get inside and not be taken by the wind,” Cai suggested.

Stepping inside, Arthur and his knights couldn't help but look around, as they now stood in the castle's enormous main entry hall. There wasn't a lot of time to look around, however, as Bill and most of his siblings met them just inside.

“Right. So follow me. Professor McGonagall has given you this, Ras.” Bill handed over a parchment, which contained both McGonagall and Dumbledore's signature. A tap of it with a finger confirmed it was a magical contract.

“Excellent. If he tries anything, he'll be stripped of his magic.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow, as they got moving.

“I would almost think you would wish such a thing to happen, Rasalas.”

“Yeah, a small part of me does. But only a small part. See, Dumbledore is the only wizard Voldemort truly fears. The Wizarding world needs Dumbledore as much as it needs me. I do still have a certain amount of respect for him. He does know a lot... a lot more than I do, even. And he is most certainly a powerful wizard.”

They finally arrived at a large set of doors that remained closed, but plenty of voices could be heard behind them.

“Remember the rules. Lance, you need to keep an eye on Accolon and Cai, and likewise, Ryan, with Aaron We're in unfriendly territory.”

“And who looks after you?”

“Me,” said Brady.

Rasalas raised his eyebrows, but smirked. Oh yes, Brady could certainly back up his words, and a small part of him just itched for some fool to try something.

“I can look after myself,” he said, simply, “But yeah, I trust Brady to have my back, just as you guys will.”

He checked himself over a moment, before pushing the massive doors apart.

The group was somewhat surprised at the room that was revealed. Instead of the usual long house tables, there were smaller, round tables, each of them with room for between eight and twelve people. The room itself was still festively decorated, with one large tree at the far end, but off to the side, with the ceiling charmed to represent a light snowfall.

“Great Goddess, this is magnificent,” said Arthur, glancing around.

The room, meanwhile, fell silent, as all eyes fell on the group who had just entered. The instant assumption, was that perhaps they were in the wrong place. Or perhaps two groups of people who were in the wrong place. Arthur and his knights had gone with their armour—if for a practical reason. Everyone else, meanwhile, were dressed like Muggles. Rasalas had done as he'd threatened, going with the hockey jersey he'd bought a few days before, layered over a zip-up jumper he'd borrowed from Aaron. For pants, he had gone with a pair of combat pants he'd bought, along with his new dragonhide boots.

Aaron and Ryan were virtual carbon copies of Rasalas, save for Aaron going with a Chicago Blackhawks jersey. Rasalas had offered to buy him a Team Canada jersey, but he'd declined. Ron, Ginny, and Bill had gone with the Muggle appearance as well, though not quite as far over as Rasalas had gone. Still, they looked very much out of place.

Brady rounded out the group, going with his typical appearance, in this case his boots, dark jeans, a dark tee shirt, along with his heavy leather jacket and vest.

As they stepped into the hall, the whispers immediately started, with all eyes following the group as they approached the staff table, situated at the back end of the room.

“Mr. Black, glad you could make it,” said McGonagall, “Though... we did mention this was a formal dance.”

“There wasn't the chance to go shopping,” said Rasalas, with a shrug.

McGonagall pursed her lips. “I somehow find it hard to believe.”

She flicked her wand at a nearby empty table, causing it to enlarge slightly, with two more chairs appearing.

“Your table. Dinner is about to be served, as we were only waiting for you and your party.”

“Thank you.”

Rasalas smirked internally, seeing the look Dumbledore was giving him. Yup. Patented, 'I'm disappointed in you'. This would prove to be an entertaining evening, perhaps.

The group all took their seats, and almost instantly, the table filled with yet another feast.

“Gods, really getting tired of feast fare. Hey Ryan, d'you think we might talk your mum into making her barbecue chicken?”

“In winter? W-w-we'd need a grill.”

“The sanctuary will provide one.”

“Th-then, yeah. Though it's still s-s-some sort of poultry.”

“Served differently. That's what counts.”

He glanced across the table, seeing the twins whispering rapidly to each other.

“And McGonagall thought she'd seen the end of Fred and George,” he smirked.

“Why do you say that?” asked Arthur.

“C'mon, Art. You've seen the kind of mischief they get into. I won't ask, plausible deniability and all that. Though you should know,” said Rasalas, raising his voice just a little so the twins could hear, “I won't be held legally responsible.”

He ducked his head and smirked, having noticed a small, black beetle flit over and land on the edge of one of the serving trays. Oh yeah, this was gonna be a _grand_ night! He'd remembered very well from the pensieve memories, what Rita Skeeter's Animagus form looked like. _Poor thing..._ wasn't she in for a shock or two!

When the noise level of the room began to rise once again, Dumbledore stood up. The room fell quiet.

“Good evening, students and guests, and welcome to our first annual New Year's Eve ball. I would ask everyone to please stand, so that we may make a few adjustments to the room.”

Everyone rose from their seats, and with a gesture from the headmaster's hands dramatic changes were rapidly made to the room. A number of tables vanished, while the rest reappeared along the sides of the room. Some people found themselves abruptly moved to another spot on the floor... it was an awesome display of magic, something similar to how the sanctuary worked, come to think of it.

“Without further ado, I present... the band that requires no introduction!”

With a flash and a shower of sparks, the band appeared on stage, the opening notes of “ _Do the Hippogriff_ ” filling the room. Rasalas grabbed Arthur's hand and they started dancing on the spot, such as most others were already doing. The _Weird Sisters_ playing, it promised to be a very good night.

The time flew, with Rasalas being content to be in Arthur's arms, not really caring about the beat. They'd gotten plenty of stares—whether it be the wardrobe choice or the strange man who was dancing with Rasalas—it was still... interesting, seeing peoples' reactions.

Brady, too, had ventured onto the floor, and had been seen dancing with a few people... definitely having a good time. Most of the time, however, he remained at the table, along with the knights.

“Arthur, I need to get off my feet a while. Let's find a table.”

“The others are over there,” said Arthur, gesturing to a table.

They made their way over, and took seats.

“So?”

“This is a most curious gathering,” said Cai, “This kind of thing happens frequently?”

“Any excuse to throw a party, yes,” Rasalas agreed, “Though not very often here at the school. 'course, by the sounds of it, the headmaster wants to change that a bit.”

“Rasalas. Glad you could make it.”

Rasalas turned to find Neville had wandered over, with Luna on his arm.

“Hi guys. It's been good so far. Oh. Neville. This is Arthur, Brady, Lance, Accolon, and Cai.”

Neville shyly shook hands with everyone, but Luna did a curtsy, saying, “Welcome, your majesty.”

Arthur was confused, but gave her a nod and a smile.

“Listen. Uh, if time allows, I'd love to have a chat with you guys later,” said Rasalas, “I'd love to know how the year's been working out.”

“I'm sure you'll make time, Harry,” said Luna, dreamily.

“Who were the other guys that came with you?”

“Oh. Uh... there they are.”

It was hard not to miss Aaron and Ryan, dancing together at the other side of the room. Their outfits were memorable—for the wrong reasons perhaps, in the minds of some.

“Where'd you meet them at?”

“When I bought property across from them. I'll have you guys come visit, the place is wicked.”

“And how is his majesty joining us?” asked Luna.

“It's complicated. And please, keep that quiet. Last thing I need is for these guys to have problems from certain people here.”

“Your secrets are perfectly safe with me, Harry.”

It was then Ron wandered over, with Hermione in tow.

“Good night so far, eh?”

“Brilliant.” Rasalas glanced to the other side of the room, where the teachers were still collected. Yup. Dumbledore was still watching them very closely.

“So what's with the strange clothes?” Neville asked, as he claimed a seat.

Rasalas let out a chuckle.

“Decided to stir the pot a little, ruffle a few feathers. By the reaction when we walked in, it was rather effective. Dumbledore's been giving me the 'disappointed' look since we came in. Poor thing, he looks like someone's kicked his puppy. But, that's what he gets for inviting us.”

“You're twisted, mate,” Ron sniggered, while Brady laughed.

“What can I say? The headmaster made me this way. He should know that rules and I don't get along very well.”

Brady laughed again. “'an it's drivin' the old man crazy. Y'aint seen how many times he's got up startin' to come over here... 'an changes his mind.”

“Or McGonagall grabs his arm and makes him sit back down,” said Cai, “I believe she has him on a tight leash.”

Rasalas nearly collapsed from the fit of laughter that caught him, with Brady not being far behind. Arthur and his knights, meanwhile, were very confused at what could be so funny.

“We'll explain later,” Rasalas said, at last recomposing himself. He glanced up, to see Professor McGonagall approaching.

“Professor,” he greeted.

“Since the event may run rather late, you're all welcome to stay the night and port key home in the morning.”

“On whose invitation? And professor, there's no way we'll be staying in Gryffindor tower. I'm no longer—“

“If you'll let me finish, Mr. Black.”

“Oh. Apologies, professor.”

“Given you are indeed guests of the school, you'll be permitted to use a set of guest quarters.”

“Well...”

“The headmaster has kept well away from us, Rasalas. I would love to see more of the castle, without constraint of time,” said Arthur.

Rasalas gave a short nod.

“Looks like you have overnight visitors, professor. But I mean it. The headmaster isn't welcome. I want as little contact with him as possible.”

“He has a magically-binding contract which enforces exactly that, which will come into effect any time you visit us.”

“Perfect. I can't thank you enough for your help. It's been a fantastic evening so far.”

“It's good to see you able to... let your hair down, even in these trying times. I'll send a school elf over in about an hour about your quarters for the night— Now... if you'll excuse me.” Her eyes darted over to the corner of the room. “I have a pair of troublemakers to reprimand.”

Rasalas only shook his head, as the deputy headmistress made a bee line for the twins.

“I did warn them.”

Her departure was timed with the arrival of Ryan and Aaron. The both of them were soaked in a few places—Ryan's hair was plastered to his head.

“Bloody hell... not even near a body of water and you manage to get soaked,” Rasalas grinned.

“Hey, w-w-we're working hard out there!” Ryan mock-protested, as he and Aaron plopped down in a pair of seats. Ryan pushed the hair out of his face, but grinned. “These guys... _Weird Sisters_ , is it? They're awesome. D-d-do they have... I dunno, albums for sale?”

“I don't know. Ginny might know,” said Rasalas, with a shrug. “Right. Uh, Aaron, Ryan, this is Neville and Luna. Guys, my new friends, Aaron and Ryan.”

As they shook hands, Ryan said, “Ras has mentioned you guys a few times.”

“Ras?”

“I keep telling them not to shorten it.”

“But it's easier,” said Ryan, with a shrug. He ran a hand through his soaked hair. “Damn. Uh...”

He gestured with a hand, and his hair instantly dried.

“Oh! You wield earth's magic,” said Luna, impressed.

“You can do better than that, miss Lovegood,” said Rasalas, with a chuckle.

“Of course. Avalon magic.”

“How can you know that?” asked Lancelot.

“Miss Luna has a very different way of seeing things,” answered Rasalas, “Am I right?”

“A very good comparison, yes,” Luna agreed.

“Magic can manifest in many different ways, right? Anyway. From what we've been learning... Ryan's learning pretty quickly.”

“You're new to magic.”

“Yeah, since last fall. It's been r-r-really cool.”

Ryan shivered. Now that he'd stopped dancing, the cooler air gave him a chill. He easily corrected it with a wave of his hand, becoming instantly dry from head to toe.

“Care to fix your partner?” Aaron smirked.

Ryan smirked right back, and Aaron also found himself instantly dry. Luna had watched the exchange.

“You're learning that sort of magic, too. Being originally Muggle, it comes as a challenge, I would assume.”

“Yeah. Really challenging though,” said Aaron, sounding a little frustrated.

“You're getting the hang of it though, I told you that already,” said Rasalas. “It'll get easier.”

“A Muggle learning how to cast magic?” Neville was confused.

“He won't ever use a wand. You need a magical core for that.”

“The magic of Avalon is earth magic,” said Accolon, “If one is willing to attune one's self with it, then wielding it is possible.”

“Oh, I'm not making fun. Merlin, I think the pureblood rabble has it all wrong. We need fresh magical blood. Our society would collapse without it,” said Neville.

Rasalas then thought of something.

“Is Malfoy here?”

“Over there,” said Neville, and pointed out a pair dancing at the other side of the room.

“Long as he stays over there. He can sneer all he likes, but if he meddles, I'll curse him to atoms. I've had all I can take.”

“Considering the blond menace nearly killed you in October, that's a given, Rasalas,” said Neville.

Raucous laughter drew their attention to another table, where four large canaries now sat.

“Right... uh... beware of what you eat, guys,” said Rasalas, shaking his head. Arthur and his knights only laughed, having already seen this before.

“I'm not sure I would appreciate being turned into such a thing,” said Cai, furrowing his brows. He glanced at his mug.

“This beverage is rather weak.”

Rasalas smirked. “Dobby!”

Pop. “Master Razzy call for Dobby?”

“A round of beer for Arthur and his knights... and Brady... and Ryan and Aaron... and for myself, if you please.”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically, and popped away.

“What about us?” asked Ron.

“You're under age, young wizard,” said Arthur, “I'm quite sure the professors would frown on you having such a beverage.”

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes.

“C'mon, you have a birthday in March, then you can join us,” Rasalas smirked.

With another pop, Dobby returned, bringing a large platter with a number of mugs on it. Hands instantly went out and claimed all of them.

“Is master Razzy and his friends needing anything further?”

“No. Thank you for your help.”

Dobby gave an excited bow, and popped away.

“Razzy?” Neville sniggered.

“I don't think he's ever used my proper name,” Rasalas muttered, “The shame of it.”

That had those gathered around the table in a fit of laughter.

Then, the table fell silent. Rasalas knew someone had approached him from behind.

“A word, Black.”

Rasalas craned his neck to look at the speaker, and was momentarily surprised. Marcus Flint. The guy had grown up, that was for sure, compared to the pensieve memories he'd seen from Ron. His eyes were still as cold as ever, and when he sneered at the others at the table... yup, still crooked-ass teeth. They _were_ fixable, right?

“Mr. Flint. What can I do for you?”

“There are rumours, Black. Certain families are looking to exercise a marriage contract. You have an account manager?”

“Yeah, of course. But... why are you telling me this? When you were still a student here, you were nothing but an arse and a git toward me and my friends.”

“Things change outside of school, don't you agree?”

“Ras, no, he's still—“ Ron began to protest, casting a glare at the former Slytherin.

“Ron, for the love of... just leave it,” said Rasalas.

He turned back to Flint.

“Join us.”

Flint glanced around a moment, before taking a vacant seat. Clearly, he was being careful, not wanting to be seen with them. Given who he was, it made sense.

“So... why the warning?”

“A common ancestor. Look, the Dark Lord, I've heard things. My parents, both of them are fully in his camp.”

Flint reached into his robes, and pulled out a folded up parchment.

“Look this over.”

Rasalas first gestured with a finger, willing the ambient magic to inspect the parchment. Finding nothing threatening, he accepted it.

Flint arched an eyebrow. “Wandless?”

“Yeah. Been getting extra lessons since the beginning of summer. Should that become public knowledge because of you...”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Flint sneered.

Rasalas seemed to think a moment.

“You're looking for a way out.”

“Then perhaps here is not the best place to be having such a discussion,” said Arthur.

“We're spending the night at the castle.”

“Best I'm not seen with you lot too long,” said Flint.

“Yeah, worried he'll be seen with mudbloods and blood traitors,” Ron muttered.

“Ron! Enough!” Rasalas growled. He turned back to Flint. “Likewise, I won't have you insulting my friends. If you want my help, that's a hard and fast rule.”

“Fine.”

“Perhaps an introduction might be in order,” Arthur suggested, wanting to diffuse the situation.

“Err... right. Those of you who don't know him. This is Marcus Flint. He was a sixth year when I started my first,” said Rasalas, “Marcus, this is Brady, Arthur, Lance, Accolon, Cai, Ryan, and Aaron.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows at a few of the names.

“Names from Arthurian times,” he spoke. He was instantly interested. “How did you get here?”

“By means we cannot tell you, young wizard,” answered Arthur, “And equally, our identity must not be revealed to others.”

Marcus could feel magic taking hold of him as Arthur spoke. Likely a secrecy spell. His opinion of Potter—no, Black—rose a few pegs. Somehow coming in contact with the legendary king Arthur... how was that even possible?

“A very powerful magical artefact,” said Rasalas, easily guessing what the former Slytherin was thinking, “It's permitted lessons far beyond what could ever be taught here. How much do you believe in the old religion?”

“Not a lot.”

“And therein lies much of the problem, young wizard,” said Accolon, “The Goddess is forgotten here. All that you have, you owe to her.”

“Very few will recognize her here,” said Ryan, “Though Ma and I have said th-th-that before.”

He took a swig of his beer then stood up.

“Um... nice to meet you, Mr. Flint. Aaron, c-c-coming?”

“Yeah... uh, right.”

Aaron stood up, and the pair made their way back out to join the dancing.

Rasalas then let out a sigh. “Of course the meddling wanker would eventually wander over.”

That got a nasty smirk out of Marcus, as Dumbledore approached.

“Harry, my boy...”

“Headmaster, do you not know how to read?” Rasalas snapped.

“I... why of course, why would you...”

“Then you have likely by now read more than a dozen articles in the _Prophet_ alone, that have very clearly spelled out my name. I'd still love to know how it is you're able to address me by a name I'm doing my damnedest to bury.”

“It is the name you were born with, Harry,” Dumbledore persisted.

“Hmmm... maybe that magical contract professor McGonagall had you sign wasn't thorough enough.”

Rasalas let out a huff.

“You want my attention, you'll address me by my proper, legal name, _Albus_.”

Marcus smirked again, hearing the malice dripping from Rasalas' tongue. No doubt, it looked like Potter was adopting some of the Black attitude, and clearly, the headmaster didn't like it one bit.

Rasalas, meanwhile, downed the rest of his beer.

“Another round, friends?”

“About that, Mr... Black,” said Dumbledore, with a pained look.

“Yes, headmaster?”

“Alcohol is not permitted here.”

Ron, Marcus, and Neville all burst out laughing.

“That's a good one, professor,” Neville snorted, “You've clearly not seen the Gryffindor common room after a Quidditch victory.”

“Or any Quidditch game, period,” said Marcus, “The Slytherins are no different.”

Arthur gave a smirk of his own, and stood up, partially uh-sheathing Excalibur. He'd felt the ambient magic humming over him as he'd stepped into the building... familiarity. The castle most definitely recognized his name and title. So...

“Ale and mead for everyone!”

The floor of the hall actually rumbled a second, before pitchers of suds appeared on every table.

“I must protest!” Dumbledore cried, “They are minor children!”

“You attempt to set a double standard that I now correct, headmaster. Perhaps in the future, you will keep to your own business.”

“Now that we've cleared that matter out of the way, was there anything else?” Rasalas asked, innocently, as Arthur sat back down, and slung an arm around Rasalas' shoulder.

“No, I daresay, there is nothing else.”

Dumbledore retreated back to the staff table.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Ron grinned.

“Though, giving everyone alcohol? Was it really a good idea?”

“It seemed an appropriate remedy, Miss Granger. Your headmaster wished to set a double standard. He can't, what's the phrase... have his cake and eat it too.”

“I wouldn't have taken you for a Slytherin, sir,” said Marcus.

“We have the traits of all the founders in us, though, right?” Rasalas pointed out. “I'll let you in on a little secret. The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.”

“Really?”

“I swear it.”

“And what prevented that?”

“Malfoy. And Ron, to an extent,” answered Rasalas, “I mean, by the time I got to the great hall, Slytherin was the last place I wanted to be. Malfoy was a right arse toward me both in Madam Malkin's, and on the train. And with Ron's spouting off about how Slytherins were the epitome of evil.”

Ron scowled at the memory, but Marcus shook his head.

“And to think, we could have had you as our seeker.”

Rasalas couldn't help but grin.

“No, I would have likely drove you all nutters... never mind professor Snape. I think he would have had a stroke, the thought of a Potter ending up in Slytherin.”

That earned a chuckle out of the former Slytherin.

“You've changed, Black.”

“I've had my eyes opened to a good number of things. One being our esteemed headmaster. He's not a saint... his actions sometimes mirror Voldemort. Neither of them are good for our world.”

“You see him as an enemy, then?”

“Not quite. Definitely not a friend though. Had Professor McGonagall not forced him to sign a magically-binding contract, none of us would have attended tonight.”

Rasalas thought for a moment.

“How'd you know we were coming?”

“I didn't. I wrote the note a while ago,” answered Marcus, seeming to know why Rasalas was asking.

“Ah, right.”

Just then, a house elf appeared to the right of Rasalas' seat.

“Master Rasalas. Professor McGonagall is sending me to show you your guest quarters for the night.”

“Oh. Right then.”

Rasalas stood up, and gestured to Arthur.

“Coming?”

“Of course.”

“If Ryan and Aaron ask, we'll be right back. Uh... Brady, you mind keeping watch over these guys until I return?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Arthur and Rasalas took the elf's offered hands, and they popped away.

They arrived in a parlour of sorts, with a view of the lake. The view would be better in the morning.

“This is being your parlour. Rooms are prepared for each of you,” the elf explained.

“We won't be needing single rooms for everyone,” said Rasalas, “But it's appreciated. You can return to your duties, we'll find our own way back downstairs.”

“Of course. Master Rasalas and his friends are always welcome at Hogwarts, says mistress McGonagall.” The elf popped away.

“It would sound like she's letting you visit whenever you like,” said Arthur, as he looked around.

“Professor McGonagall has always been a strong supporter. And it is nice to be back, in a way. Hogwarts is somewhat my second home.”

“Perhaps we should configure a doorway into the sanctuary,” Arthur suggested.

Rasalas thought for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of doing so. Dumbledore might try to get through, but... no, the wards on the sanctuary were very old magic. It would be fine.

“Let's get back to the sanctuary. Dobby?”

About ten minutes later, a door into the sanctuary had been created, added to the parlour, along with a clock above the door reminding them of the time. Like Camelot, it was five hours ahead of the time back at the Sawyers'.

With that done, the pair had Dobby return them to the ball.

“What happened?” Ryan asked. He and Aaron had returned to the table, and both were once again practically drenched with sweat.

“Professor McGonagall has set us up with quarters for the night. We were just checking them out.”

Rasalas looked down at Dobby.

“Could we get—“

“Allow me,” said Arthur, again partially unsheathing his famous blade, “Another round!”

The floor shook again, and the pitchers were refilled.

Rasalas smirked. “You're gonna have the entire castle in a drunken stupor come morning.”

“Lending to the headmaster's lesson, am I right?”

“Sire, I do believe we've become a bad influence,” Rasalas smirked. That had Brady smirking, as he raised his mug in salute.

“One hour to go!” came the amplified voice of the band's lead singer, as they broke into another aggressive number.

Now, Rasalas dragged Arthur back out to dance. Though the small party they'd had a few days before had been wicked, for some reason, this was better. For nearly the remainder of the hour, they danced together, sometimes bumping into Ryan and Aaron, who were in the same shape. Gods... the pounding head they would have in the morning...

“Ten minutes!” came the amplified voice.

“C'mon... let's get back to the table.”

Arthur and Rasalas worked their way back over to the table, and it proved to be an effort, as the room was spinning madly by this point. The ale and mead had been rather potent, and no doubt, Madam Pomfrey would likely be very busy in the morning.

Rasalas was surprised to find that Marcus had remained with the group, nursing a mug of beer. No matter, as long as he behaved himself, Rasalas decided, as he took a seat, with Arthur quickly occupying the one beside it. Rasalas smirked, and with a gesture of the hand, the two chairs merged into a small couch.

Ryan quickly followed suit, getting chuckles from most of the group.

“What is it we will do at midnight?” asked Cai, “This 'new year' celebration is unfamiliar.”

“We toast the new year,” answered Hermione, “It's a more modern tradition.”

She'd just finished speaking, when three bottles of champagne appeared at the centre of the table, along with glasses for everyone.

“Right.” Rasalas collected the bottle, and began filling the glasses for the group.

“Ras. Let me,” said Ryan, as he and Aaron stood. They looked a little unstable on their feet, but leaned on each other, as Ryan raised his glass.

“The wheel once again t-turns. We bid farewell to the old, and welcome the new, the prospect of new faces, new lessons, n-new trials. Happy new year, and blessed be.”

“Blessed be,” said part of the group, as glasses clinked.

The final minutes ticked by, with the energy in the room rising with anticipation. Then...

“Ten.”

“Nine.”

“Eight...”

The room rapidly joined in the countdown, with the band's drummer providing a drum roll.

“THREE.”

“TWO.”

“ONE.”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” came the explosion of voices, as fireworks exploded up in the rafters, and streamers and confetti rained down around them.

Rasalas seized Arthur about the face, and proceeded to snog him senseless, much as Ryan was doing to Aaron. For what seemed like an eternity, everything else around them faded into the background. For the two couples, nothing else mattered.

When they finally came up for air, the pandemonium was only just beginning to die down. The Weird Sisters began to play a familiar melody:

_Should old acquaintance be forgot,_

_and never brought to mind?_

_Should old acquaintance be forgot,_

_in the days of auld lang syne?_  


Most half-blood or Muggleborn witches and wizards quickly joined in on the chorus:

 

_For auld lang syne, my dear,_

_for auld lang syne,_

_we'll take a cup 'o kindness yet,_

_for the sake of auld lang syne._

  
The second verse, however, was unfamiliar:

  
_Let's have a drink or maybe two!_

_Or maybe three or four!_

_Or five or six or seven or eight,_

_and maybe even more!(1)_

  


That had Rasalas, Ryan, and Aaron laughing, as they broke out into the chorus again. Rasalas chanced a look at Dumbledore, and _bingo_! The patented 'disappointed' look. Of course, McGonagall didn't look too impressed, either.

* * *

They'd ended up dancing for three more hours, before the band finally packed it in. Both Accolon and Cai had fallen asleep at the table, and Lancelot was barely still awake. Ron and Hermione had retreated back to Gryffindor tower sometime earlier, as had Neville, after making sure Luna made it back to her own common room. Marcus was also somewhat still conscious, still making up to a mug of beer.

“What'll we do with him?” asked Aaron.

“There's an extra room in the quarters. The elves expected us to all need single rooms,” said Rasalas. “Dobby and Kreacher.”

Two distinct pops heralded the elves' arrival.

“Help us up to our guest quarters, if you please.”

“Is master Marcus joining you?” questioned Kreacher.

“He is. Make him comfortable. I still need to have a word with him in the morning.”

“Wha?” Marcus muttered.

Rasalas resisted the urge to laugh. He was utterly plastered. Then again, Rasalas was also seeing double at this point.

“Eh... just get us all back to the guest suite so we can find our beds.”

“Mmmm... lovely bed,” Arthur muttered, swaying unsteadily. Rasalas was by this point supporting most of his weight, with Brady helping on his other side. Of course, he wasn't all that stable on his feet either.

Five minutes later, everyone had been brought up to the guest quarters. Rasalas gestured at the door with a hand, putting an alarm ward on the door. Then, while Kreacher led Marcus to one of the rooms, everyone else passed through the door into the sanctuary.

Though Arthur had wanted to, neither he, Rasalas, or Brady made it into bed, but collapsed on one of the couches in front of the fireplace. They all reeked of beer, were literally soaked from dancing, but none of them cared at this point. The immediate issue, was sleep. Rasalas crushed up against Arthur, and Brady crushed up against Rasalas... and really at this point, this was nothing new.

* * *

It was much later in the morning before they were disturbed.

“Ras, mate.”

“Ron. Ugh... what time is it?”

“Going on ten thirty. You missed breakfast.”

“Pass.”

“Grouchy are we.”

“Piss off, it's too early.”

He shifted, snuggling closer to Arthur, who was still sound asleep. His shifting caused Brady to crush a little closer as well, finally dislodging his cap.

“You all look terrible,” said Hermione, “And you need a shower and clean clothes.”

“Not now.”

“D'you m-m-mind?” Ryan muttered, half asleep, “S-s-some of us are still t-t-trying to s-sleep.”

“Mmm... ditto.”

“Perhaps you should have found proper beds then, rather than sleeping in the common room.”

“Just go away,” Rasalas muttered, “'s too early.”

“Flint's looking for you.”

“Flint who?”

“Gods, Ras, you don't remember?”

“I... oh, right. C'mon, guys, we can sleep later.”

Brady muttered something incoherent, and blinked, only to shut his eyes again.

“Think a bus run me over,” he muttered, shifting off of Rasalas.

“No, dragged behind the knight bus,” said Rasalas. He sat up, and held out a hand. Moments later, a bag with a bunch of vials landed in it.

“We'll be needing these. Headache potions, and pepper-up potions.”

“My head. It feels though I've been dragged for a mile behind a horse,” Arthur muttered, half asleep.

Rasalas silently agreed. Hadn't he swore not to drink so much? Such a pleasant start to the new year, he muttered in his head, as he drank the nasty potions.

“Now that my head's not pounding.” He slowly stood up. Gods, the room was still spinning.

“Where's Marcus?”

“In the parlour,” said Hermione, “He's still very unpleasant, so you know.”

“Hermione. I know. Thing is, he's asking for our help.”

“He did give you a parchment last night,” Arthur reminded.

“Yes. He did.”

Rasalas reached into his pouch, and pulled out the folded parchment. Now somewhat sober, he was in better shape to read it. There were two pages, the first being a list of books that he'd never heard of before.

“Well?” Ryan prompted.

“It's a list of books. Kreacher?”

The elf trotted in from the dining room. “Master Rasalas call for Kreacher?”

“I need you to look for these books. Any library I have access to, and if not there, you have permission to purchase them.”

Kreacher took the list, gave a steep bow, and popped away.

“What's the second?”

“Part of the Black family tree... and now things make sense. Marcus is related to me... we're distant cousins.”

“Really?” Ron sounded surprised.

“Come on, Ron. You know the Black family goes back many generations. You know we're related, too, right?”

“Oh. Well...”

“But what does he want, Ras?” asked Hermione.

“My gut... he's showing us something. Powers of the family. It's something that Sirius had started to do, before...”

“Powers of the head,” said Ron.

“But... I'm still lost,” said Aaron.

“Best way to find out, I guess. I'm about to have a word with him.”

They found Marcus sitting on one of the couches in the parlour.

“You slept elsewhere,” he realized, seeing Rasalas enter.

“The chambers here are fairly secure, but I still don't trust the great Albus Dumbledore as far as I can throw him. Given the school is still under his authority, it was easier just to provide a connection to some place more secure.”

“Makes sense. Have you read the message I gave you?”

“I did. Kreacher is presently hunting down the book list you provided. I somewhat understand what you're telling me... but... what will you do, if I go after your parents?”

“Nothing,” said Flint, flatly. “I'm dealing myself out of the war, much like you have.”

“I haven't completely dealt myself out of the war. I still plan on fighting Voldemort... and Dumbledore, when the time comes. Neither side really has it right—both sides will harm our world, one far worse than the other.

“If Dumbledore is allowed to keep doing as is, we'll be facing another dark witch or wizard in a generation, or less. If our world is to survive, wholesale changes have to be made, starting at the top of the order and working our way down.”

“Against generations of traditions? You work against powerful families, most of them already in the Dark Lord's pocket.”

“But how many of them are of Black blood?” Hermione pointed out, “If Rasalas can go after your parents, how many more could he neutralize in a similar manner?”

“I assume that's why you gave me a book list,” said Rasalas.

“It's a start, but it won't be enough on its own.”

“His lessons from my sister and her aunt, on the other hand, may prove rather persuasive,” said Arthur.

“The powers of Avalon,” said Marcus. “Tell me, you have met Merlin himself?”

“Yeah, we have. Back in the summer. But tell me, Mr. Flint. If I help you, what do you get out of it?”

“Survival. I've seen things. Things that cannot be unseen.”

“You have learned what it truly means to follow a madman,” Rasalas surmised. “Fine. I want you to look into my eyes, and lower any sort of protection you might have on your mind. Refuse, I'll show you the door and leave you to the monster you seek protection from.”

Marcus gave a nod, and looked Rasalas in the eye.

Rasalas easily entered the Slytherin's mind, noting the moderate defences he had. Somewhat adequate, and it would have been a bit of a challenge for him to defeat. But more to the point... the memories... were horrible. It was unfathomable that someone was capable of doing such things—never mind force others to watch the deed. It reinforced the terrible truth: Voldemort was truly a monster. Marcus had been absolutely terrified of what he'd seen, hence the about face.

Rasalas at last withdrew, seeing what he needed to see.

“Very well. I don't know of exactly how to extend protection to you, but... come on. For now you can join us in my more secure location.”

“Rasalas, are you sure—”

“Ron. I'm sure. But know that the place I live has ancient wards that won't take attacks against its occupants well.”

“Being created by and put in place by one of Black blood, I would expect no less,” said Marcus.

“When were you marked?”

“When was I—this past summer,” Marcus answered, now knowing what Rasalas asked.

“Do you regret the acts you were forced to commit in order to earn it?” questioned Arthur.

“I do. Just as I regret so many things the Dark Lord commanded me to do.”

“Very well. Follow us.”

Marcus was led into the sanctuary's common room. As he crossed the threshold, he could feel a strong surge of magic wash over him. Most of it was warm and welcoming, save for a small sliver of icy cold that surrounded the Dark Mark on his arm. He absently rubbed at it.

“Voldemort will likely have a lot of difficulty reaching you here,” said Rasalas, “The wards are pretty strong against offensive or invasive magic outside of it.”

“Something I will appreciate. The Dark Lord has shown his displeasure through it on a number of occasions.”

“Perhaps Morgaine or Viviane might be able to remove it,” suggested Accolon.

“Won't hurt to ask,” Rasalas agreed.

“You know them as well.” It wasn't a question.

Rasalas answered anyway. “Both are teachers. We're off on holiday until the second week of the month.”

Just then, there came a faint knock from the private suite back at Hogwarts. They heard the door open a second later.

“Stay here.”

Rasalas stepped into the suite, to find Dumbledore there, looking grave, the customary twinkle gone from his eyes.

“Mr. Black, Voldemort and his Death Eaters are attacking the ministry. We could use your help, given your extra knowledge. Other members of the Order are already on their way.”

At exactly the same time, Rasalas felt tremendous pressure through his scar. He winced, but rapidly reinforced his mental defences.

“Ouch. Yeah, he's there.”

“What happened?” Ryan questioned, with him, Aaron, Brady, as well as Arthur stepping into the room.

“Voldemort. Ministry. Uh... Arthur, go back to Camelot. Cai, Accolon, and Lancelot as well. Seal up the sanctuary, no one in or out until we get back. Uh...”

“We're coming,” said Ryan, literally daring Rasalas to challenge it.

“So are we,” said Ron, now joining the others.

Rasalas shook his head. “No. You guys have to stay here. You're all under age. Your mum would find a way to murder me in the afterlife if something happened to you on count of me.”

“But...”

“Ron.”

“'an I'm coming,” said Brady, “Don' bother tryin' an excuse.”

“Kreacher.”

Pop. “Master Rasalas called for Kreacher?”

“Keep Mr. Flint company. Ask if he needs anything from his home, and fetch it, please and thank you. We have an errand to see to.”

“Battling the Dark Lord,” said Kreacher.

“Yes.”

“Best of luck, Master Rasalas.”

“Thank you.”

Kreacher popped away.

“Well? C'mon, guys. Those coming, gather close. Arthur, please... get back to Camelot, close the door behind you.”

“Be safe, Sir Rasalas.”

Arthur embraced Rasalas tightly, and they kissed. They separated, and Rasalas watched him step back into the sanctuary, with Ron following. The door closed immediately after.

“Fawkes.”

The phoenix appeared in his customary flash of golden flames.

“Can you take the lot of us to the ministry's atrium?”

Fawkes fluttered down to the couch, then offered his tail feathers.

_**END OF ACT II**_

> “ _Every problem is a gift - without problems we would not grow.”_

  
_\- Anthony Robbins_   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas, Brady, Aaron, and Ryan help defend the English ministry against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Warning: Violence and gore._  
>  _CHAPTER NOTES: So, the evil Slytherin joins the party. Question is, what's his agenda? Self-preservation? Wait & see, no?_  
> We now move into Act III, which covers battle and strife. I warn that there will be violent scenes ahead, as well as some gore and other mature subject matter. Reinforcing the 'M' rating, for a good reason.  
>  _(1) As sung by the Dropkick Murphys._


	40. Ministry Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As we move into Act III, Rasalas, Brady, Aaron, and Ryan help defend the English ministry against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Warning: Violence and gore. And yes, death._

**ACT III: BATTLE**

> “ _You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it.”_

  
_\- Baroness Margaret Thatcher_   


* * *

  


**301\. MINISTRY CHAOS  
January, 2007**

> “ _Where the battle rages, there the loyalty of the soldier is proved.”_

  
_― Martin Luther_   


* * *

  
_Ministry of Magic, London_   


The atrium was in ruins, virtually a war zone at this point. Deep gouges had been blasted out of the polished dark wood floor, and the peacock blue ceiling was flickering, the golden symbols were scrambled, a large number of tiles having been destroyed by spell fire. The lower portion of the wall had also suffered heavy damage, with smoke billowing from one section, the wreckage smouldering. Three quarters of the fireplaces had enormous metal gates slammed down over them, while the others were ruined. Rasalas blocked all that out, since for now, there were much bigger fish to fry.

A group of Aurors were retreating, with a throng of black-robed witches and wizards pressing. Rasalas immediately took advantage of the amount of debris lying around, and sent it aloft. The invading force suddenly found themselves being pelted by pieces of porcelain, stone, and wood, with rather painful results.

Rasalas winced, feeling a powerful surge of pain erupt from his scar.

“He's in court room ten,” he said, as he pushed the pain aside. Getting visions and the like from his scar had become scarce over the past while, as he continued to improve his Occlumency. Pulling in a bit of ambient magic, he was able to then block it out altogether.

With the Death Eaters tied up with the flying debris, the Aurors began to turn the tide of the fight, quickly incapacitating three quarters of the invaders. Rasalas sneered at the weak spells being used; this was war.

Though it was their first time in a real fight, both Ryan and Aaron set to work, putting their lessons into practice. Ryan quickly joined Rasalas, using the debris as a weapon—although in the case of Ryan, he simply created things from the air around them.

Brady, being on the same level as Rasalas, was equally creative. This being his second honest fight, he most certainly didn't play nice. One Death Eater found himself grabbed by the metal gates of one of the fireplaces, which Brady had animated. The end result wasn't pretty. Another was tripped by a piece of the floor, which then quite literally wrapped itself around the witch, much like a boa constrictor, squeezing the life out of her. Unlike the real serpent, the action took perhaps a second.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ” A wheezy-sounding Death Eater snarled, sending a bolt of green magic at Aaron.

Ryan summoned an incapacitated Death Eater into the path of it.

“Mr. Sawyer, that's hardly appropriate,” Dumbledore admonished them, before batting away a concussion hex.

“Better him than me,” said Aaron, simply.

“Smart tactics,” Rasalas agreed, “It's one less that will be rejoining the fight. C'mon, make your shots count.”

“How are you doing this, Mr. Black?” questioned one of the Aurors.

“From lessons I've learned over the past few months—“

Rasalas flung out a hand at a Death Eater who was in the midst of casting, and slammed him into the nearby wall, knocking more porcelain tiles off of it. Blood came from the man's mouth and nose, and he didn't get up.

“Impressive.”

Aaron, meanwhile, with only limited knowledge thus far, could only deal with threats one at a time. Ryan was at his side, naturally, but by no means did Aaron feel helpless. A pair of Death Eaters were suddenly slammed together, and collapsed to the floor, not moving.

“C'mon Aaron, you've g-g-got the hang of this,” Ryan praised him, before summoning a loose porcelain tile. “Make it something dangerous.”

A red bolt of magic flew at them, but Rasalas flung a hasty shield in front of them, and the spell bounced harmlessly up at the ceiling.

“Guys! Now's not the time for teaching!”

They were approaching the main part of the atrium, which had also suffered terrible damage. The fountain was completely destroyed, the statues blown into thousands of tiny pieces from the battle.

“We should've been here sooner,” Rasalas muttered, as they spread out.

“N-n-no sense in re-hashing should-haves and other sh-sh-shit, Ras. Just... how do we g-g-get down to the court rooms?”

“The lifts at the far side of the atrium,” said Dumbledore.

They were suddenly forced to duck, as nearly a dozen bolts of red energy came at them from all directions. Three Aurors were struck, but everyone else managed to avoid or deflect the offensive spells.

Rasalas and Ryan immediately teamed up, sending the debris around the fountain into the air. Ryan was rather creative, making the debris into sharp projectiles. Within seconds, half of the attackers were incapacitated, immediately becoming visible.

“Disillusionment charms,” said Dumbledore, understanding at once what the Death Eaters were doing.

Now it was the headmaster's turn to work some magic, lashing out with his wand, sending a flame whip toward something at the edge of the room. A disembodied voice let out a horrible shriek, as something invisible was set on fire. It took no stretch of the imagination to know what had happened.

“ _AVADA KED—_ ”

_WHACK_ . Brady had zeroed in on the speaker, and slammed the invisible speaker into the wall.

“Still wanna to play with kid gloves, old man?” he sneered.

“There is always an alternative, Mr. Gibson,” said Dumbledore, sadly.

Rasalas mentally sighed. The old wizard just didn't get it, and likely never would. Some people were beyond redemption, it was that simple. Rasalas had learned that lesson; some, the best thing to do was to simply send them off to their next great adventure, since living, they endangered everyone else—much like a rabid dog.

It was then that another group of witches and wizards entered the main atrium. Ryan and Aaron made to attack, but Dumbledore waved them off.

“They're Order members.”

“Black,” Alastor 'mad-eye' Moody greeted.

“Moody,” Rasalas answered, with an incline of the head.

“We just came from upstairs,” said Bill, “Bad business. We think Edgecombe might have let them in through the floo network. Aurors still cleaning up in the department.”

“Albus, the Wizengamot—“

“We already know,” Dumbledore answered, “All of you will follow me into the lifts. Har—Rasalas, you and your friends, since we've seen what you're able to do, will take the lead.”

Rasalas arched an eyebrow. Perhaps, the old man wasn't quite lost yet.

“Very well. Uh, Bill, and Mad-eye, and... you three...” Rasalas pointed to three Aurors. “With me, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron in one lift. Everyone else split up between the others.”

They hurried back through a set of golden gates that led to the lifts, and Rasalas pressed the nearest 'down' button. A lift clattered into sight, but Rasalas quite literally imploded the cage, seeing it was full of Death Eaters.

“Har—Rasalas,” Dumbledore admonished.

Rasalas gave the old man a frosty glare.

“ _Look_! They're in our own back yard, bringing nothing but destruction death and chaos. I'll bash their bloody heads in, rather than cast spineless, weak magic and have their mates revive them back into the fight!”

He spun around to face the Aurors.

“Same goes for the lot of you! This is a combat situation, not a fucking _training exercise_! So grow a pair or turn in your badge and go back to quivering in the hole you came out of!”

More than a few people were shocked at Rasalas' tone (never mind the dreadful language), but some, including Moody and a few members of the Order, could only agree.

Rasalas again pressed the 'down' button, and this time, an empty lift arrived, the golden grilles sliding apart with more noise than he would have liked, echoing in the chamber. He stepped in, with Brady, Ryan, Aaron, Moody, Bill, and the three chosen Aurors following. The gates slammed shut, and Rasalas hurriedly pressed the 'nine' button, sending the lift into a descent.

“Nice words back there,” said Moody, “You were spot on.”

“Dumbledore needs to learn that he can't save everyone—some people are beyond that.”

“We know, laddie, we know,” said Moody, shaking his head. “You've been getting extra training?”

“Plenty,” Rasalas agreed, “Right... get ready.”

“ _Department of Mysteries_ ,” came the cool female voice, as the lift came to a stop, and the grilles slid open. Rasalas again cringed at the terrible noise that echoed up and down the corridor. Great. Now the entire floor knew they were there.

Rasalas couldn't help but glance down the corridor to the right, toward the plain black door at the far end. For over half a year, he'd gotten visions of trying to open that door... and somewhere in there, back in June, he'd lost Sirius.

“W-w-which way?” asked Ryan.

“This way.”

Rasalas turned in the opposite direction as the plain black door, leading the group toward the staircase.

“DOWN!” Moody commanded, and everyone dropped to the floor, as a hail of spell fire lit overhead.

Surprising, the spell fire was answered from the opposite end of the corridor, as the black door burst open, and a number of people launched an attack of their own. It was a virtual rainbow of colours that flew from the entrance to the ministry's most secretive department. Rasalas couldn't help but smirk; if they thought  _he_ was difficult... who only knew what the Unspeakables could come up with!

“Clear,” said a muffled voice. Rasalas realized the speaker was disguised.

“Thanks for the hand,” said Rasalas, as he regained his feet.

“Good to see you here, Mr. Black,” said the Unspeakable, as another lift arrived, and the grilles separated.

“What happened?” Dumbledore questioned, as the rest of the Order spilled out into the corridor.

“We were momentarily pinned down. We had some help,” Rasalas answered, flicking his eyes to the three Unspeakables that had joined them.

A third lift arrived, with the remaining Aurors hurriedly stepping out of it.

“We have any idea yet as to how many of the enemy we're dealing with?” asked Rasalas.

“About fifty, my guess,” said one of the Aurors. “I echo the Unspeakable's sentiment, Mr. Black. I'm senior Auror Morgan.”

“Great. How many d'you figure we've met so far?”

“A third of them. Maybe half.”

They approached the stairwell, but were driven back by more spell fire. With a loud POP, a dark-robed witch appeared, but only had the time to raise her wand before being struck by an orange bolt of magic.

It had to be the most gruesome thing Ryan and Aaron had ever witnessed, as the witches' internal organs were quite violently expelled from her body, to land with a sickening  _ plop _ at her feet. She tottered there a moment, before collapsing in a heap.

Aaron felt his stomach turn over, and sucked in several breaths, trying to force down the bile that was rising in his throat. Brady, seeing his discomfort, instantly banished both the innards and the corpse. Having seen someone beheaded, it wasn't much different.

“What... w-w-what the hell was th-th-that?” Ryan stuttered, horrified.

“Entrail-expelling curse,” said the Unspeakable, flatly.

“I... I think I'm gonna puke,” Aaron muttered.

Rasalas reached into his satchel, and pulled out a vial.

“Here. Stomach-calming draught.”

“Thanks.”

Aaron popped the cork on the vial, drank the nasty contents, and handed the empty vial back.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Dude... that was beyond nasty.”

“C'mon, Aaron, we'll probably s-s-s-see much worse before we're d-d-done here.”

The large group of defenders finally began to descend the stairs leading to the lowest level in the ministry. If Auror Morgan's estimate was right, they would be facing perhaps twenty more threats. Considering Voldemort was present, that meant more than likely, the bulk of his inner circle. His scar was hurting more and more, the closer they got, but Rasalas focused on the target.

The corridor itself was devoid of activity, but it was clear there had been a magical fight here, if the scorch marks on the walls, floors, and ceiling were any indication. A number of torches were out, leaving some parts of the corridor in near darkness, with heavy shadow. The bodies of eight Aurors, and three Death Eaters lay motionless—casualties of the fight.

The door to court room ten was still closed. So now, the question of how to proceed. Rasalas glanced around. There was a bit of debris around, so... perhaps...

“Right. Brady, I want you to blow the door in. I'll immediately follow up with a debris storm as I did upstairs.”

“Are you sure that is the best course of action?” questioned Dumbledore.

“Do you have a better plan, headmaster? This door is the only way into the room, am I correct?”

“He is correct, headmaster,” said Auror Morgan. “Though the plan he's suggesting might hurt the hostages, I have to agree with it. If we truly face the Dark Lord in there, it's the only plan that has any hope of succeeding.”

“Ghost in,” said Brady, “You can make yourself invisible.”

“Good thinking,” Rasalas agreed, “You guys watch my body.”

Rasalas sat down with his back against the stone wall, and began to concentrate, while Brady, Ryan, and Aaron kept watch. It was slightly challenging, knowing Dumbledore and a few other questionable allies were near his body, but this... this was important. It was about gathering intelligence.

Everyone else, meanwhile, watched, as Rasalas seemed to fall into a trance. The Unspeakables were particularly interested, since this would be considered a most unusual kind of magic.

He was only gone for a minute or so, before he woke up.

“Right. Voldemort is there, in the middle of the room. It's the full Wizengamot... Fudge looks like he was put under the Cruciatus curse a number of times... so does Amelia Bones.”

“Is Percy there?” asked Bill.

“Yeah. He's in rough shape, too.”

“We're still going with your plan?” asked Bill.

“It's the only plan that has a chance to work. Ryan, Aaron, I want you guys right behind me and Brady. This is the big dance, winner take all, right? So whatever you can come up with. Everyone else, it's back to your training. A breach of a strongly-defended compound, hostages involved. Make sense?”

Auror Morgan was quickly nodding along. For someone who had a fifth-year magical education, the former Harry Potter—or Rasalas Black, as he was now calling himself, sounded more like a seasoned Auror. Rasalas was in charge, this much was clear. His friend would make the breach, with Rasalas providing the shock and awe distraction, while the rest stormed into the room. If it actually worked, Morgan swore to himself he would be making a personal recommendation to Amelia Bones, that the boy be hired into the Auror department 'A.S.A.P.'.

Rasalas now stood in front of the door, with Ryan and Aaron just ahead of him. Brady held up three fingers... two... one. A slash of his right hand sent the door exploding inward, and Rasalas quickly followed, sending a blinding cloud of debris into the room.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”

Brady didn't have time to even blink, as a body quite literally jumped in front of the green bolt of magic. One of the Aurors who had joined them now lay dead at his feet.

The rest of the defenders flooded into the room, and the room lit up with deadly magic, between the two opposing forces. As more and more debris was created, both Rasalas and Ryan added it to the cloud which continued to hound the hardened Death Eaters. Brady, meanwhile, turned pieces of debris into sharp stakes, nailing Death Eaters who'd become distracted by the nuisance.

Belletrix Lestrange was being chased by the heavy chained chair that had come dislodged sometime earlier. Rasalas had to mentally grin at that. Several times, she had tried to blast the thing, but found it was simply immune to such mild attacks.

“ _AVADA_ —“

“Nuh uh... no death magic for you,” Rasalas cackled, and Belletrix was silenced, still being chased by the witness chair.

“ _Crucio_!” Voldemort snarled, but Rasalas simply side-stepped the curse, letting it blast chunks out of the lower wall that separated the floor from the raised seating.

Rasalas reacted by attempting to send the Dark Lord flying.

“No, Potter, you won't be doing that again,” Voldemort said, evenly, and only then, did Rasalas notice the near-transparent dome that surrounded him.

“A shield. Of course. Thing is, Tom, you waste energy to maintain it. So it comes down to your magical stamina, doesn't it?”

“You believe you can outlast me, Potter?” the Dark Lord questioned, then laughed. He nearly dropped the shield as a result, and quickly regained composure.

“It's simple math, Tom. Perhaps, you are more than adept, but between me, professor Dumbledore, and the lot behind us, you really think you can hold all of us off?”

“My followers—“

“Are presently indisposed. I think the Carrows quite literally soiled themselves... before Disapparating. Interesting to note that poor, pathetic Peter did the same thing. Without the soiling bit, maybe—I'm actually surprised there... oh... what do we have here...”

Rasalas gestured to a witch and a wizard, bound in heavy cords. They weren't moving.

“Mr. and Mrs. Flint. Always thought the family was rotten to the core, and therein lies the proof. ...and poor Belletrix, she's being chased about the room by a piece of furniture—nice work, by the way, Ryan.”

“Was the b-b-b-best I could c-c-come up with,” said Ryan. He gestured with a hand, sending a clump of sharp projectiles at a Death Eater who had just woke up.

“See, Tom, you thought I was a nuisance when I visited you back at the beginning of November. I'm an absolute nightmare in person. And I still haven't paid you back for what you did to the Weasleys. I'll get to that sometime in the future, and that's a promise.”

_BANG_ . Two Aurors were suddenly impaled by pieces of wreckage from the room, as Yaxley and three unknown Death Eaters stormed in from the holding cells.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!” Voldemort again growled, and Ryan dragged his boyfriend out of the line of fire.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, waved his wand in the direction of Yaxley, sending a torrent of water at him. He was sent sprawling, and Brady followed it up with something like a strong freezing charm.

“Mr. Gibson...”

“Fuck off old man, 'least he ain't gettin' up,” Brady growled.

“See, Tom, the difference between Professor Dumbledore and me, and my friends here... We're not afraid to get our hands dirty... or bloody, if necessary—”

Rasalas felt immense pressure on his mental defences, never mind the pain in his scar—which abruptly abated. Rasalas couldn't help but smirk, knowing the Dark Lord had just experienced the full brunt of his mental defences.

“So it appears,” said Voldemort, appearing thoughtful, and choosing not to comment on what he'd just experienced. “What has spurned such a change?”

“A reevaluation of matters. The Goddess says I am the one to defeat you. So be it. If I'm fate's tool, then I'm not gonna play nice.”

The discussion had been a stalling measure, as Rasalas worked out exactly what sort of shield the Dark Lord was using. Subtle probes of the shield had at last revealed the weakness.

“Shock spells! Everyone!” he exclaimed, before hurling a powerful blast of electrical energy at the shield. Brady followed suit a fraction of a second later, and between the two of them, created a brilliant light show as the entire dome lit up and sparked with the energy being thrown at it.

That was the cue for everyone else in the room to unleash a flurry of shock spells at the shimmering dome surrounding Voldemort. Ryan had momentarily hesitated, but contributed his own.

The Dark Lord attempted to push more and more power into the spell, but... it just didn't do any good. Potter and the Mudblood were using some strange kind of magic—something beyond anything he'd experienced before. The shield faltered, and finally collapsed, forcing Voldemort to Apparate a short distance away and avoid being nailed with over a dozen shock spells.

That, however, exposed him to the cloud of debris that was still flying about the room, and he was forced to banish a clump of spikes making a fast track for his head. The distraction proved costly, as he found himself seized up by what felt like an enormous hook, and slammed against the ceiling... once... twice. Then it was a slam to the floor.

Dazed, the Dark Lord flailed his wand out randomly.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!!_ ”

Ryan summoned a piece of a chair in front of the curse, preventing it from striking a member of the Wizengamot. Why in the world didn't they move? He wondered.

The distraction proved useful to the Dark Lord, however, and he Disapparated again.

“ _It ssssseems, Harry, that you have won thissss round,_ ” came Voldemort's disembodied voice, hissing in Parseltongue, “ _But perhapsssss you sssshould be left with a little memento of our meeting. It's been educational._ ”

A purple blast of magic sliced across Aaron's abdomen, from point blank range. He collapsed to the floor, without making a sound, though the shock was evident on his face.

“Aaron!!” Ryan quite literally screamed, dropping beside him. He pulled up the shirt and his jumper, to reveal a terrible wound stretching across the younger man's abdomen.

“Professor, can you see to things here now? We... we have to go—“

“Yes, I daresay your friend needs Madam Pomfrey's immediate attention,” said Dumbledore.

“I'm going with,” said Bill, “Summon Fawkes.”

“Fawkes,” Rasalas cried.

Almost instantly, Fawkes appeared in his customary flash of golden flames. He settled down beside Aaron, allowing sparkling tears to fall on the grisly wound.

“What... w-w-what is—“

“Just let him help. Phoenix tears will help settle the wound,” said Rasalas, “Remember he was able to help Gwenhwyfar a few months ago.”

The Aurors, meanwhile, split into two separate groups: one, to collect the incapacitated Death Eaters; while the other helped to free the immobilized members of the Wizengamot.

For now, Rasalas wasn't too concerned about what was going on there. His entire focus was now on his new friend.

“Fawkes. Return us to Ryan's room in the sanctuary.”

* * *

Only seconds later, Rasalas, Brady, Bill, Ryan, and Aaron arrived back in Ryan's bedroom inside the sanctuary. Rasalas quickly levitated Aaron up onto the bed, while Bill vanished his jersey and the jumper. The wound had closed somewhat in the time since Fawkes had donated some tears, but it was still terrible.

“Will... w-w-w-will he be all right?”

“He'll be fine. I promise,” said Rasalas, “I still have to contact Madam Pomfrey, but... I think we can fix him here. I'd rather him not be in the hospital wing.”

“But—oh,” Bill realized, “That would probably make sense. Though we could also take him to _Upper Canada Hospital_.”

“Last resort. Here. Help me give this to him in the mean time,” said Rasalas, producing a vial. “It's a dreamless sleep potion.”

Ryan propped Aaron's head up, and Rasalas opened the bottle, then poured the potion in the guy's mouth, then messaged the throat to get the potion into his stomach.

“Right. So... just bear with me a few minutes, while I send Dobby to Madam Pomfrey for extra potions.”

Stepping into the common room, Rasalas found both Accolon and Cai sitting at the table they commonly occupied in the evening. Both looked concerned. Marcus, too, was seated on one of the couches. Now there was another ugly conversation...

“Rasalas. We cannot return to Camelot,” said Cai, simply.

Rasalas frowned, but stepped into the parlour, and tugged on the door leading back into Arthur's bedchamber. It wouldn't budge. The door leading into the planetarium was also locked.

“When did this happen?”

“Arthur and Lancelot had returned,” said Accolon, “Just as I stepped into the vestibule here, the door quite literally slammed shut of its own volition.”

Rasalas furrowed his brows. The matter was a bit of a concern, but for now, he had a much more critical matter.

“This is a problem, but... Aaron was seriously injured at the ministry. I need to look after him first.”

Accolon instantly became concerned. “Is he well?”

“He will be. I need to speak with the healer at Hogwarts, and collect a few potions. He'll likely be off his feet for the next while, so no training for him... otherwise, he'll be well.”

“Take care of your friend, then,” said Cai, “We can wait.”

Rasalas took a seat at the smaller table, and summoned a pad of paper and a pen, and quickly scribbled out a note. He then summoned Dobby.

“Razzy call for Dobby?”

“I need you to take this to Madam Pomfrey right away. Wait for her, as I've asked her to send along some potions. Aaron's been hurt really badly.”

Dobby immediately held out a hand for the letter.

“Dobby is returning shortly!” He popped away.

“What happened at the ministry?” Marcus questioned.

“Over fifty bad guys, 'least that's what they estimate. Your parents were there too. It was an attempt to take over the ministry, that's my guess. Had the entire Wizengamot held in the same courtroom where I was tried for underage magic the summer before—at least I think. I... I'll need to have a look at things through a pensieve... thing is, we won, the ministry didn't fall today, and no one I know personally was killed.”

“Perhaps the best outcome you can hope for,” said Cai.

Rasalas nodded sadly.

“Other than it not happening at all. But that... that's too much to ask for.”</div>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Bill attend a hastily-called Order meeting; a lengthy discussion with Marcus Flint immediately follows; Rasalas once again meets with Dumbledore to discuss Slughorn's memory...and Aaron continues to heal up, with visits from Madam Pomfrey..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So, unlike in the HP canon, it seems things like to blow up on New Year's rather than Halloween. Hmmm..._   
> _So as you all may have noticed, things have slowed down considerably. Going through a bit of... well... I wouldn't call it writer's block, since I have plenty of ideas. It's just hooking all the ideas up, making things make sense. So the process is a bit slow these days. I'm trying to keep it so I'm pushing something out at least once a week, but again, no promises._


	41. Information and Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Bill attend a hastily-called Order meeting; a lengthy discussion with Marcus Flint immediately follows; Rasalas once again meets with Dumbledore to discuss Slughorn's memory...and Aaron continues to heal up, with visits from Madam Pomfrey..._

**302\. INFORMATION AND INSIGHT  
January, 2007**

> “ _There is a difference between not knowing anything and understanding that you don't know.”_

  
_\- Tom Clancy, The Sum of All Fears_   


* * *

It couldn't have been more than a minute, before Dobby returned.

“Madam Pomfrey is insisting on seeing the the patient herself, she says.”

“All right. It's a good idea anyway,” said Rasalas.

He closed his eyes, then opened them.

“Fetch Madam Pomfrey. Bring her directly to Ryan's room.”

Dobby popped away.

“Did your side lose anyone?” asked Cai.

“No. At least, not that I know of. We lost a number of Aurors, and there were some nasty injuries, but... the good side fared well, I think.”

“Then that is what you must take from this, young wizard,” said Accolon.

“Just. Bear with us a bit longer.”

Rasalas and Brady then went into Ryan and Aaron's room. Ryan was still at Aaron's bedside, caressing the injured man's nearly-bald head. He was visibly trembling. Rasalas could easily put himself in the guy's shoes: his partner had been horribly injured, how else would he feel?

Brady, meanwhile, moved to be beside Rasalas.

“Y'okay?”

Rasalas sucked in a breath and blew it out. “Y—no. But... I will be.”

It was then that Dobby returned, with the medi-witch in tow.

“What happened?” she demanded, as she hurried over to the bed, producing her wand.

“I... I don't know what it was... purple blast of magic. Fawkes cried into the wound, but—“

“Then we are well ahead in this case. You've given him a dreamless sleep potion.” It wasn't a question.

“Better to be out of it than in pain,” Rasalas answered.

“I can better-treat him in the hospital wing.”

“Not happening,” said Rasalas, flatly, “I trust you, but I don't trust a number of other people at the school right now. His safety is far more paramount.”

“Surely, Mr. Black—“

“The hospital wing's fireplace connects with the floo network?”

“It does.”

“You may access my... my home here through the floo. It's 'Black Sanctuary', you've already been added to the wards.”

Madam Pomfrey huffed, but now knew it was pointless to argue with him. She thought of something.

“Why don't you summon Viviane?”

“The door back to Camelot isn't working,” Rasalas answered, “Aaron needed immediate medical attention, and frankly, you're at the top of the list when it comes to this sort of thing.”

“Th-th-thing is, w-w-will he b-b-b-be okay?” Ryan asked.

“It will take some time. Fawkes' tears most certainly lessened the damage, but I will be assigning a potion regimen for the next week.”

Madam Pomfrey began pulling a number of vials out of the small kit she had brought with her, and setting them on the table beside the bed. She then separated three vials from the group. One had a dark blue potion in it, the second contained a nasty green-coloured potion, while the other had a sickly brown-coloured potion.

“Each of these, twice a day, for the next seven days. Mr. Sawyer, if you'll help me give him the first dose.”

“Y-yes ma'am.”

It was while he was assisting Madam Pomfrey, that Casey and her husband entered.

“What... what happened?” Phil questioned, while Casey looked alarmed. Though Aaron wasn't a member of the family, he was somewhat their responsibility, given he was staying with them. Casey looked horrified, seeing the grave wound across the young man's abdomen.

“We... we have to notify his parents,” she decided.

“No. Aaron can do that,” said Rasalas, “He just needs some rest and medication.”

He indicated the vials on the bedside table.

“He might die!” Casey protested.

“No, he won't,” answered Madam Pomfrey, as she and Ryan administered the third potion, “Mr. Black is entirely correct. Though it looks severe, we are able to mend things rather swiftly with very little danger.”

“Who are you?” Phil questioned, furrowing his brows.

“Poppy Pomfrey. I'm the healer at Hogwarts.”

“I... oh. I see,” said Casey, as realization set in. Healer, or doctor. It was likely things worked a little differently in the magical world.

“Mrs. Sawyer, Aaron's in very good hands. I... uh, did a little bit of research. When I was born... she delivered me,” said Rasalas.

“Nine pounds, three ounces, if I remember correctly,” said Madam Pomfrey, as she closed up her kit. “A beautiful, healthy baby, with those brilliant green eyes of yours.”

Rasalas could feel his face getting hot, and he elbowed Brady, seeing him smirking.

“Right. I do need to return to the hospital wing. I will return after dinner to look in on him.”

“I'll see you to the floo,” Accolon offered.

As they left, Casey asked, “What happened?”

“We'll wait until Accolon gets back before we explain. It's been a long afternoon—AAAAAAH!”

It was as if a hot fire-brand were being shoved through his scar. The Dark Lord was angry at something.

“Ras?” Ryan looked alarmed.

“It... no, it's okay. Voldemort... he's pissed at something.”

“Good grief, boy, you look like you've rolled around on the ground,” said Casey, pursing her lips, “All of you for that matter.”

“Not exactly a priority,” said Rasalas, absently rubbing his forehead. 

His hair felt nasty, and most definitely, a long soak in the bath was on the agenda—he'd likely need to peel the clothes off of himself only after soaking. He felt... what was the word? Gungy. He'd slept in the clothes he'd wore to the ball, and indeed, he was covered from head to toe. The debris cloud had filled the air with dust, and so he'd certainly not been immune.

Accolon at last returned, and Rasalas asked the room to provide some chairs so everyone could sit down.

“Now what happened?” Casey all but demanded, as they took seats.

“Death Eaters tried to take over the ministry just before lunch time,” answered Rasalas, “Dumbledore warned us of what was going on, we went to help.”

Casey looked furious. “You could have been killed!”

“Yeah, likely,” Rasalas answered, “But I'd rather that, than hiding and looking for someone else to take care of things, such is the habit of so many English witches and wizards. Ryan was brilliant, as was Aaron.”

“We would have lost the ministry without their help,” said Bill.

He'd not said a whole lot up to this point, given he was still contemplating the event himself. Such a bold attack. It could have been much worse, and a lot of people would come to that realization rather quickly.

“But...”

“Casey, dear, we knew this was a possibility, given what Rasalas has shown us,” said Phil, “He did the right thing... helped his friends to do the right thing.”

He turned to his son. “We're proud of you.”

“Th-thanks, Da.”

Casey pursed her lips again, but softened.

“You boys might think of getting cleaned up before going anywhere.”

“Uh, likely, Mrs. Sawyer. I'll be taking a page out of Ryan's book, I think... no way I'm getting this stuff off without soaking first.”

That got a pained expression from Casey, and a momentary grin from Ryan. It was fleeting, quickly replaced by a stony expression.

It was then a silvery, ghostly shape of a phoenix appeared close to Rasalas.

“ _Black_ ,” it began, “ _Order meeting about to get under way in the great hall. Please attend._ ”

“So much for getting cleaned up. We need to be there.”

“I... Aaron... I don't w-w-want to leave him.”

“We'll keep an eye on him,” Casey offered.

“C'mon then. Uh, Brady, Bill... coming?”

Brady scowled. “Count on it.”

“Of course,” said Bill.

They stepped into the common room.

“Uh... Dumbledore's wanting to meet with us. So it's gonna be a bit of time yet,” said Rasalas.

“Go. We will summon Dobby to put out something to eat,” said Accolon.

“Thanks. Uh... Marcus, I have Kreacher looking for the list of books you gave me... but I still need to have a word about... well...”

“I will wait,” Marcus answered.

The five of them passed through the doorway into the suite back at Hogwarts, then out into the corridor.

“This way,” said Bill.

They passed through a doorway into the main stairwell.

“Uh. Beware of the staircases. They like to change,” said Rasalas.

“That sounds fun,” said Brady, sarcastically.

Both he and Ryan looked around as they began to descend. There were portraits on the walls, with more than a few occupants watching them.

“It's a l-l-little creepy, y'know. How they're all w-w-watching us.”

“The portraits actually help the headmaster keep an eye on the school. Or at least, they're supposed to. If Dumbledore actually did his job and pay attention to such things, there wouldn't be so many problems.”

They at last arrived at the first floor and the entry hall. There were still plenty of students around, and more than a few of them gave the three visitors a critical glance, considering a pair of them were still a mess. Getting cleaned up was still not a priority at this point, as they climbed a different set of stairs that led to the great hall.

“Without all the b-b-bullshit you've had t-t-t-to put up with... th-th-this place looks awesome,” said Ryan.

They pushed the doors open, and Rasalas was surprised to find the room was still somewhat set up as it had been that morning. House elves were cleaning things up, but it would still take a little time to get everything sorted. A large table had been created near the back of the room, and a number of familiar faces had already gathered around it.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Gibson, Mr. Sawyer, Mr. Weasley. Glad you could join us,” said Dumbledore, indicating a trio of vacant seats.

“Merlin, Black, you do know of a cleaning spell, do you not,” said McGonagall, pursing her lips.

“Not a priority,” said Rasalas, as he took a seat, “A friend was gravely injured during the battle, his treatment and care came first.”

“Now that we're all here,” said Dumbledore, “Today, Tom Riddle struck by surprise, and if not for the help of Harry—Rasalas and his friends, the ministry might very likely have fallen. Mr. Sawyer, you and your... friends have our gratitude.”

“It w-w-was the right thing to do.”

“Yes, indeed it was,” Dumbledore agreed, “The four of you have demonstrated magical ability on a scale not seen in centuries.”

“Yeah, training at Avalon might have s-s-something to do with that,” said Ryan, “Meanwhile, the bunch of you w-w-were casting spells that a f-f-first year here could have avoided.”

“Or have one of their compatriots come along and revive them. Ryan's spot on. Like I said earlier, it's a combat situation. They're not aiming to play nice, so neither should we. They're the enemy, so make sure they're not getting back up.”

“But...”

“But what?” Rasalas snapped, “Look. The lot of you. Are you here to make a difference, or to hang off of Professor Dumbledore's coat tails? If you're only here to toady around and follow blindly, then—“

Rasalas pointed a finger at the great hall's doors.

“You can see yourself out. There's no room for passengers here.”

“And who exactly put you in charge?”

Rasalas turned to the speaker.

“Ah, Mundungus Fletcher. The same individual who was supposed to be keeping an eye on me the night I was attacked by Dementors—this according to my late godfather.”

Rasalas gestured with a hand, and Fletcher found himself lifted out of his seat, and dropped at the door.

“I could have thrown you out bodily, but others might not appreciate that. Still. _Get out_.”

The reaction from those gathered around the table was mixed, since he wasn't exactly well-liked in the organization. Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall further arguments.

“Now Mr. Black, surely—“

“You want me here? He leaves.”

Dumbledore wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, but grudgingly agreed. Fletcher gave Rasalas a look of loathing, before pushing open the doors, and exiting the hall.

“Again. If you're only here as a passenger, not willing to do what it takes, you can follow Fletcher.”

“Dung has a point. Who put you in charge?” came a question from the far end of the table.

Rasalas again gave a smile that promised lots of pain.

“Voldemort.”

He let out a sigh, hearing the number of gasps and sighs around the table. Ryan, meanwhile, couldn't help but shake his head.

“If th-th-this group's s-s-s-supposed to b-b-be fighting Voldemort... there's n-n-no hope.”

Rasalas reached over and gave Ryan's shoulder a squeeze. The guy was still very much rattled by what he'd been through, never mind the fact his boyfriend had nearly been killed.

“D'you need a calming draught?”

“If y-y-you have one.”

“Allow me,” offered a dark-skinned wizard sitting across from them.

Rasalas shook his head, simply summoning a vial from his pouch, and passing it to Ryan.

“No offence, but I don't have a lot of trust in anyone at this table—my companions being the exception. Seriously though,” Rasalas ploughed on, “I'm supposedly the 'chosen one', at least according to the bloody _Prophet_. And unlike you lot, I didn't just stand by, didn't just cast weak, ineffective spells against a group of terrorists an hour ago. I cast magic that guaranteed they wouldn't be getting back up. If they died as a result, too bad. I won't cry over their passing. They chose a side, so they have to live with the consequences. It's that simple.”

“Yes, I have to agree,” said Moody, “I was most impressed by your approach to the matter, Black.”

“Thanks, Moody. How many were captured?”

“Still working out the final total,” answered the dark-skinned wizard, “We figure perhaps twenty five, all requiring the attention of a healer before being transferred to ministry holding cells. I also have to agree with Alastor. None of those incapacitated by the magic of you or your companions ,were seen in further combat.”

“Your Aurors... meanwhile, castin' useless magic against the fuckers, 'an their buddies come along 'an wake 'em up again. They's terrorists in your own back yard. Tryin' to take over, what Ras figures. It's war, an' in war, 'ya make your shots count or end up six feet under.”

“But you still don't answer the question... why should we listen to you, Black? You might be legally of age, and yet—“ Hestia Jones pressed.

Rasalas made to answer, but Brady put a hand on his shoulder.

“They ain't gon' get it, prob'ly never will.”

That earned a furious look from a few people.

“What,” Ryan pressed, “F-f-from what Ras has s-s-shared with me and Aaron, you guys are supposed t-t-to be the good guys, right. But say the name of the m-m-monster you're supposed to b-b-be fighting, and the bunch of you practically shit yourselves! 

“Y'know... it might be half amusing, to s-s-see what would happen if he somehow showed up here all of the s-s-sudden. W-w-wonder how many of you would f-f-faint?”

“Ryan...” Rasalas cautioned him, seeing the further furious looks he was getting from the group.

“You asked Ras to come help. We joined him w-w-without hesitating... knowing th-th-that we might have to fight a monster. Now my b-b-boyfriend's recovering from something that l-l-likely would've killed him in the Muggle w-w-world.

“Thing is, I don't r-r-regret it, and neither will Aaron.”

“Yeah, 'an neither do I,” Brady added. “Y'all chucked 'im to the wolves last year. Still wonderin' what the fuck's wrong with you people.”

That earned Brady many more furious looks from those gathered around the table. Rasalas was in a mental debate: were they pissed at him calling them out on the matter, or the dreadful language he'd chosen?

“L-l-look, uh, I don't want to be r-r-rude, but...”

“Yes, indeed, you would like to get back to your injured partner,” said Dumbledore. “I'll let Kingsley have the floor.”

Shacklebolt—the dark-skinned wizard, stood up. “This is what we were able to determine was the sequence of events.

“This morning, Voldemort once again incited a mass breakout of his death eaters from Azkaban. That was confirmed, as Lucius Malfoy was seen at the ministry assisting with the attack this afternoon.

“The Wizengamot was in session, conducting trials for those death eaters captured at the beginning of November. So the assumption is, this attack today was two-fold: one to free those that had been captured, and to possibly take down the ministry itself. We're still interviewing those captured today.

“The first indication something was wrong, came at 1 pm or thereabouts. Floo Regulation had been overran with Death Eaters by the time the Auror office reacted. By this point, we determined, they used the emergency staircase to get down to the court rooms. I was able to get out an alarm to Albus here, to get the Order involved.”

“It was almost 11 o'clock before professor Dumbledore knocked at our suite,” Rasalas remembered, as Shacklebolt sat back down.

“Mr. Black, we would be interested in seeing things from your perspective, if you'll permit,” said Dumbledore, indicating the clay bowl at the centre of the table.

“Sure.”

Rasalas touched a finger to his temple, and drew out a long silvery strand. He dropped it into the pensieve, and touched the rim of the bowl to activate it. He was somewhat annoyed to have to relive the experience, but the Order did need to know what was going on, and more importantly, have some sort of idea what he was capable of. Of course, he'd never reveal the extent of his power, just to prevent people from getting ideas.

In retrospect, the battle hadn't really lasted all that long—no more than twenty minutes from the time he'd arrived, until their departure for the sanctuary with Fawkes. Twenty minutes of chaos.

When it concluded, Rasalas simply collected the memory, and stowed it in a vial he had produced from his pouch. It was more than likely it would be needed several times in the future, beginning with Kate—she would need to be aware of it, as would the Canadian ministry.

Rasalas turned his attention back to the meeting.

“I trust Madam Edgecombe will be interviewed with Veritaserum.”

“As will the rest,” said Shacklebolt, “Madam Bones is calling in the entire department, and as it stands, I can't be away too much longer.”

“Wh-what do you plan on d-d-doing with them... uh... c-c-c-considering your prison's a revolving door now. And what about the D-d-dementors? They're s-s-supposed to be guarding the prison, r-r-right?”

“Both very good questions, Mr. Sawyer,” said Shacklebolt, “As it stands for now, prisoners will be held at the ministry under heavy guard. The Dementors, as far as we know, have left Azkaban to join Voldemort—“

He waited for everyone to get control of themselves, but Ryan cut in.

“Good Goddess, you people are r-r-really hopeless,” he said, shaking his head. “Here's a thought... If th-th-they have that stupid mark on their arm, ch-ch-chuck them through that veil thing. Seriously. If they j-j-j-joined Voldemort, they made their ch-choice, right?”

Rasalas gave a nasty smile. “Another reason I like this guy. He sees things from a different angle.”

“But, surely, Mr. Sawyer, that would be just as bad as you-know-who,” Jones protested.

“They're t-t-t-terrorists, it's that s-s-simple, as Brady's p-p-p-p-pointed out. A lot of places in the w-w-world, they'd b-b-b-be executed anyway, rather than c-c-costing the government m-m-money to keep them in p-p-prison.”

“Be it as it may, we do things a little differently, Mr. Sawyer,” said Dumbledore.

“'an how's that workin' out for 'ya?” Brady sneered. 

Ryan sucked in a breath and blew it out. “Is... is... is there anything else y-y-you guys needed from us? I n-n-need to get back to Aaron.”

“No, Mr. Sawyer, I think that's everything,” said Dumbledore.

Ryan stood up, with Rasalas immediately following—there was no way in  _hell_ Rasalas would let Ryan walk the halls of the school on his own, particularly with Malfoy around. He  _had_ been at the ball the previous evening.

Once they were outside the great hall, Rasalas simply called for Fawkes to give them a lift back to the sanctuary, rather than travelling the halls again. On return, Ryan immediately checked on Aaron, who was still very much out of it. The injury was healing nicely, but it didn't give Ryan a whole lot of comfort.

Somewhat reassured, Ryan made a bee-line for the master bathroom, with Rasalas and Brady immediately following. The three of them spent the next hour soaking in the enormous tub. Rasalas almost dozed off, and realized he was exhausted from both the party the previous night, and the battle that afternoon. Perhaps an early night was in order.

Ryan, too, looked beyond exhausted. The guy had seen his first combat, had seen people die, had nearly lost his partner and his love, all in the span of twenty minutes.

Brady, too, looked beat, in exactly the same circumstance as Rasalas. None of them had really gotten a lot of sleep, had been heavily intoxicated... it was a wonder none of them had not been seriously injured, Aaron aside.

Rasalas counted himself very lucky. Brady had done very well, escaping any serious injury. And Arthur... he'd made it back to Camelot, and so was safe from the chaos that had just unfolded. It could have been worse... much worse.

“Ryan. If... if there's anything you need... if there's anything I can do...”

“I... but...”

“Aaron's still alive. That's what you take from this.”

“I just... I'm s-s-scared, Ras.”

“I'd call you a liar if you said you weren't. Now c'mon, if we stay in this water much longer, we'll turn into raisins or something. And Aaron will heal faster with his mate beside him.”

“Huh... oh... shit...” Brady mumbled, lifting his head. He'd dozed off, resting his head on the edge of the tub.

Clean and dried off, Ryan wasted no time lying down beside Aaron. Rasalas and Brady, meanwhile, returned to the common room.

“Accolon and Cai,” said Rasalas, “Remember back in August, when we were separated?”

“Yes,” said Accolon.

“Somewhat,” said Cai, “It was a concern.”

“It's something we never figured out, but... the sanctuary decided to lock the doors on us. I think we're dealing with the same issue. The door leading into the planetarium is also sealed.”

“And so it will unlock when it is time,” said Cai.

“As much as I hate to think so... yeah, exactly.”

“Where exactly are we?” Marcus finally dared ask.

“Inside of a powerful magical artefact,” Rasalas answered, “Something that belonged to the Peverells.”

“So you do know somewhat of your heritage.”

“Potter, Black, and Peverell, yes. I've already redirected proxy votes for the Potter and Black seats.”

“To Amelia Bones. It's public knowledge,” said Marcus.

“You are forgetting one of your titles, fellow knight,” said Accolon.

Rasalas rolled his eyes. “Here... I doubt that would carry a lot of weight.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Knighted? By Arthur?”

“Yeah. Back during the summer. Both Brady and I... we protected Arthur during a raid by Saxons.”

“Merlin, Black... you really have no clue.”

“Help me then.”

“If Arthur knighted you... then most definitely, it carries weight here. You want proof? Stand in the entry hall in the castle and say...” Marcus had to think a moment, as if recalling something from memory, “I am Sir Rasalas... I think that's it.”

Rasalas scowled. “If I do, and it makes me look like an ass, I'm coming back and hexing your ass.”

That had Brady laughing, and Rasalas couldn't help but grin.

“But seriously,” he pushed on, “What will it do?”

“There is rumour, that Camelot and Hogwarts were for a time connected...”

Brady pointed one hand at the locked door leading into Camelot, the other at the door leading into the guest suite at Hogwarts.

“Uh... doubt that's what they meant,” said Marcus.

“We have seen magic behave in many different ways,” said Accolon, “How can we be certain it is not?”

Rasalas couldn't come up with a suitable challenge. “Again though... what will happen?”

“It is said that the knights of the round table could get assistance from the castle itself.”

“So you're sayin' the castle's alive?” Brady guessed.

“I dunno. Maybe,” Marcus hedged. “But just as important. You can force the old fool to address you properly.”

“So he won't be able to call me 'Harry' anymore.”

“No. The old magic will prevent it. Still would like to know how he's getting around addressing you properly as it is.”

“Well, he is a powerful wizard, we're all in agreement there, are we not?” questioned Accolon.

“This is true,” Marcus agreed, “And far too many believe him to be a saint, lily-white, the paragon of the light, and other such rubbish.”

“Been around too long,” said Brady, “Think about it... how old is he anyway?”

“A hundred and fifty, something like that,” Marcus guessed.

“So he's been around since the eighteen-sixties. Had all that time, makin' a name for himself, right? Makin' friends in the right places...”

“Kate's still digging into his past dealings,” said Rasalas, “And when the time's right, I'll bury him but good.”

He thought for a moment.

“Being knighted... what sort of power does that grant me outside the school?”

“I don't know. But you're a Peverell,” said Marcus, “The name pre-dates the founders, going back to... or likely before Merlin himself. That's the title that will matter.”

“Sirius wanted me to keep my Peverell heritage quiet.”

“And continuing to do so will only prevent you from tapping into the power you have available to you. Let the Slytherin in you out to play, Lord Black.”

“Need to put you and Kate together in the same room,” said Rasalas, mostly to himself.

“You have yourself a solicitor?”

“Yeah. A good one. When it comes to much of the legal stuff, I'm still in the dark.”

“You need to learn it,” said Marcus, “Marriage contracts and other such 'traditions', there are rumours going about that concern you.”

“How might someone ensnare him into such a contract without his knowledge?” Cai wanted to know.

“Through his ignorance. A rule you have to follow from here on out, do not sign anything without first passing it to your solicitor. How often have you signed your name since leaving England?”

“A few times. All of those times have been while dealing with my solicitor,” Rasalas answered.

“And you have signed as Black?”

“Yes.”

“Then your signature is part of a public record. When next you meet with your solicitor, she needs to be aware of the risk.”

“You seem to know great detail about these matters, young wizard,” said Accolon.

Marcus sneered. “My family travels in the very circles who wish Lord Black harm.”

“Your mother and father were at the ministry with Voldemort,” said Rasalas, “Both are in custody.”

“Good. Though... they will likely not stay there.”

“No. You're right. You realize, it's very likely we _will_ end up killing them.”

Marcus gave Rasalas a furious look, but softened. “I... guess it's something I have to accept. I asked for your protection from them, as much as I sought protection from the Dark Lord.”

“How far are you willing to go?”

Marcus fell quiet for several moments. It was an honest question. His head still swam with the idea that the boy-who-lived could have been a Slytherin. And here and now, the young man demonstrated exactly why. The way he'd spoken harshly of 'saint Dumbledore' and all of his bullshit... This was the man who would bring about the necessary changes to the wizarding world... not Dumbledore... not the Dark Lord. He closed his eyes, then opened them.

“Whatever it takes, Sir Rasalas.”

“Sir Rasalas,” Accolon spoke, “You carry immense power, given to you by both Arthur and the Goddess. Think of those in this room... in this sanctuary... that each of them are ready to follow you. Perhaps, one day, so shall all of Britannia.”

“At least the magical world,” said Marcus.

“Considering, non-magical England has a living Queen,” said Rasalas. “Has since... the fifties, I think.”

“Even so. You are by all accounts one of Arthur's most trusted companions, replacing his wife in all but name,” said Cai. “The bishop's complaints aside, it is Arthur's will.”

“No matter what... there's gon' be people that ain't gon' like it,” said Brady, “There's gon' be a lotta battles.”

“No shit. Thing is, we'll have to meet each and every one of them. Sometimes head-on... other times, using not-so-direct tactics.”

“You know I got your back,” Brady said, “Jus' like Ryan and Aaron do.”

“Just as the Weasleys,” said Rasalas, “My oldest friends. I'll need their support... and I know I'll get support from a number of people at the school.”

“As you will also have plenty of enemies. I need not say, but watch out for Malfoy. He's out for your blood,” Marcus warned him.

“Oh, I'm sure. Thing is, I know his mother's a Black by blood.”

“So you are aware of some of the powers the head of family wields.”

“Somewhat. Sirius had started to cover that sort of thing, before he was murdered. Belletrix Lestrange is near the top of my shit list... murdering the family head and all that rot.”

“You can take her magic,” said Marcus.

“Really? I mean, Viviane did threaten to bind Malfoy's magic back in October... but...”

“Had some nice things for the old man too,” said Brady.

Marcus smirked. “How'd he take it, discovering there was someone alive who possessed infinitely more power and stature than he did?”

“Hid it pretty good, I think,” Brady answered, “Man's too good at hidin' what he's really feelin'... an' that ain't healthy.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Rasalas agreed. “Guys, promise me that if I start getting like that, you slap me or something. I think Dumbledore is a perfect example of someone who's out of touch with reality, for starters. Manipulative, conniving bastard. Apparently he has plans on top of plans, and no desire to share them with the people who follow him.

“Y'know, I do have a strong suspicion, he was involved with what happened to Sirius. And if I ever prove it... Let's just say that... it's been a long time since there's been a Crucifixion here in Britain.”

“You have witnessed such a thing,” said Marcus. It wasn't a question.

“No. I have, however, witnessed a beheading. It was unexpected, and unpleasant. Arthur did not take kindly to an English wizard joining the Saxons.”

The discussion ate up the rest of the afternoon, as Marcus continued to lay out some of the powers the head of a most ancient and noble house had. It built on the information Sirius had shared with him, all of which being most valuable. There would definitely need to be a meeting with Kate once she returned from holidays, just to see where Canadian wizarding law fell, with regard to a lot of it, but really... Rasalas' enemies were in England, and the law there was what really mattered.

Immediately following dinner, Rasalas created yet another room in the sanctuary for Marcus, since it was clear he would be staying with them for the immediate future. There had been debate about just giving him a room in Rasalas' house, but the security on the sanctuary was much stronger. Not to mention, the wards on the sanctuary interfered with the Dark Mark, meaning Voldemort could not remotely cause pain or injury to Marcus.

Getting to sleep that night proved difficult, as it had been nearly a year since he'd slept alone. Far worse, the Dark Lord invaded his mind in the early hours of the morning.

“Your performance yesterday, was... most impressive,” said Voldemort, as a number of scenes seemed to play in the background, “Such powerful magic, it is a shame we find ourselves on opposite sides. We could be great, you and I.”

Rasalas chose to say nothing, as doing so would only indicate his willingness to participate in the conversation.

“No comment, Potter? Pity. Of course, if you wish not to participate, I can most certainly keep talking. See, Harry, no matter what you might believe, no matter what sort of power you amass these days, know I have taken steps that ensure you can never truly defeat me.

“In the end, I will take everything from you, before I finally take your pathetic life.”

“Keep dreaming, Tom, but leave me be,” Rasalas finally answered in a sleepy voice, “Before I get piss drunk and come visit you again.”

Rasalas was startled to full-awkeness by the stabbing pain in his scar. The comment had annoyed Tom, and Rasalas had to smirk in spite of himself. The bastard still had no clue just what Rasalas and his friends were capable of.

The day was somewhat a loss, with Ron and Hermione visiting. With Aaron still unconscious, a dark mood had settled over the sanctuary, it was hard to concentrate on anything, and so all lessons and training were put on hold.

Madam Pomfrey checked in on Aaron three times during the day, helping to administer the medications in the morning and the evening. Though the injury had closed up by this point, it still looked raw and angry, and would need more time to fully heal.

Ryan, meanwhile, wouldn't leave his mate's side for very long, and when Madam Pomfrey tried to insist he sleep elsewhere, Rasalas threatened to throw her out of the sanctuary if she continued that line of thinking.

“This is my home. If Ryan wants to sleep with his partner, you have no right to tell him otherwise,” Rasalas had finally snapped.

* * *

_January 3, 2007_

Now that things had settled down somewhat, Rasalas once again visited Dumbledore in his office. He'd once again gone with the hockey jersey he'd wore on New Year's Eve, knowing it annoyed the headmaster. It was likely one of the most Muggle-looking pieces of clothing he now owned, and he was more than thankful a few repair and cleaning charms had restored it to perfect condition.

“Ah, Mr. Black. What can I do for you?” asked Dumbledore, indicating a chair in front of the desk. Rasalas took it.

“I have the corrected memory from Professor Slughorn,” Rasalas said, producing a vial from his pouch.

“Before we proceed, Mr. Black, I do have to raise issue with the behaviour of your guests during the ball.”

Rasalas folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

“If you're gonna berate me or hound me about events past...”

“Serving alcohol to minors is something I cannot tolerate, Mr. Black,” said Dumbledore, frostily, “Not only did I hear from Madam Pomfrey—before being alerted to the events unfolding at the ministry—I have received dozens of letters from irate parents.”

“Perhaps if you hadn't inserted your overly-large nose where it didn't belong, that entire episode could have been avoided,” Rasalas snapped, matching the headmaster's tone. “Dobby was catering to my party specifically, knowing full-well who had the rights to adult beverages. Take it as a lesson. Your interference will not be tolerated.

“Now that we've got that out of the way. Can I continue with the _real_ purpose of this meeting?”

Dumbledore gave Rasalas another disappointed look, before summoning the pensieve from its storage cabinet, and letting it gently come to rest on the corner of his massive desk. Rasalas un-corked the vial, and seeing the pensieve was empty, deposited the vial's contents into it.

“After you, professor.”

The memory lasted perhaps a half-hour, and when they returned from the pensieve, the headmaster looked collected, but definitely unsettled.

“Six Horcruxes. You now truly understand exactly what we are fighting against,” he at last said, as Rasalas collected the memory from the pensieve.

“I know, sir. Three objects out there, with a piece of his soul in them. Two are destroyed—his diary, and the Gaunt ring. One I still have in my possession, only needing the means to kill it. I'd debated about taking it to Avalon and doing it there, but... doing so would sully a sacred place.”

“Indeed. Should your attempt not be met with success, I will loan you a sword you are most certainly familiar with,” Dumbledore offered, gesturing to the case off to the side, containing the Sword of Gryffindor.

“I'll let you know either way. My main concern now, is to figure out what the other items might be.”

“I might have a few ideas, if you would care to see another memory,” said Dumbledore.

“Of course, if this is part of the puzzle.”

“Oh, most certainly it is, my boy,” said Dumbledore, looking perhaps excited. Rasalas allowed the man to have his moment, collecting another vial from the carousel. He dumped it into the pensieve.

“Whose memory is this?”

“The memory of a house-elf named Hokey, who worked for a very old, very rich witch named Hepzibah Smith.”

Rasalas looked puzzled. Smith. No, it didn't ring a bell. Perhaps the headmaster would shed light on it...

“After you, Rasalas.”

Even though he didn't know who Hepzibah Smith was, it didn't require a whole lot of thought to understand exactly what Dumbledore was showing him. Another founder's artefact—and more importantly... without a doubt... one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

When they exited the pensieve, Rasalas questioned, “What happened to Mrs. Smith?”

“She died two days after this little scene,” answered Dumbledore, “Hokey was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning her mistress's evening cocoa by accident.”

Rasalas rolled his eyes. “And I have a bridge for sale in London.”

“I see you and I are of one mind,” said Dumbledore. “Certainly there are many similarities between this death and that of the Riddles. In both cases, somebody else took the blame, someone who had a clear memory of having caused the death.”

“Why does this not surprise me? Voldemort has been a master manipulator. Great Goddess, how many spies does he have in the Ministry, I have to wonder?”

Rasalas sighed.

“No matter. I assume Voldemort filched both Slytherin's Locket and Hufflepuff's Cup from Smith's collection.”

“Exactly. By the time Hokey was convicted, Hepzibah's family had realized that two of her greatest treasures were missing. It took them a while to realize this, for she had many hiding places, having always guarded her collection most jealously. But before they were sure beyond doubt that the cup and the locket were both gone, the assistant who had worked at Borgin and Burkes, the young man who had visited Hepzibah so regularly and charmed her so well, had resigned his post and vanished. His superiors had no idea where he had gone; they were as surprised as anyone at his disappearance. And that was the last time Tom Riddle was seen or heard from for a very long time.”(1)

“So we nail down one more Horcrux. If Voldemort used Slytherin's locket, it only makes sense he would use Hufflepuff's cup.”

“And you also notice a pattern,” said Dumbledore, “The objects he has used, they hold some sort of significance.”

“That would leave something from Gryffindor, and something from Ravenclaw.”

“Perhaps, one or the other,” said Dumbledore, “As I have a suspicion of what the sixth might be. Have you noticed the behaviour of Nagini?”

“Voldemort's snake. _Wait_.”

Rasalas had to think on that a moment. Making a Horcrux out of something that was alive?

“You can use animals as Horcruxes?”

“I would think it would be inadvisable to do so,” Dumbledore hedged, “Because to confide a part of your soul to something that can think and move for itself is obviously a very risky business.”

“It sounds completely mad, but... it would underline the Slytherin connection,” said Rasalas.

“I couldn't agree more. I think he is perhaps as fond of her as he can be of anything; he certainly likes to keep her close and seems to have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth.”

They fell silent for a while, as Rasalas thought this new information over. He pushed the sleeves of his jersey up, then crossed his arms.

“I'm guessing you're looking for them, even now?”

“Indeed, I am. In fact, you might be able to help directly, given your position as head of the house of Black.”

“In what way?”

“Do remember, how Tom's diary ended up in the hands of young Ginerva Weasley?” At Rasalas' angry nod, he continued, “It is my belief that at least one other Horcrux has been placed in the care of his followers. Surveillance of Gringotts has revealed Belletrix Lestrange has attended the bank on several occasions since the end of September.”

Rasalas wanted to question why the Ministry wasn't attempting to arrest her, but realized the answer himself. With the Ministry being as weak as it was, it would be a wasted effort. And with Azkaban compromised, it was unlikely she would remain in the Wizarding prison anyway.

“You believe that Belletrix Lestrange has a Horcrux in her vault at Gringotts.”

“I do. Now... you seem to already know somewhat about the powers a magical family's head has, though I do suggest you locate and thoroughly review the materials Mr. Flint has suggested.”

“How... oh. Never mind,” said Rasalas. Of course, Marcus had been seen at their table on New Year's Eve. “He's been a brilliant source of information so far.”

“He will become a powerful ally.”

“Agreed. He is related somewhat. But... what am I looking for?”

“You will know when you see it.”

Rasalas had to force himself not to roll his eyes.

“So we destroy all of his toys. Then he can be killed?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Dumbledore, “Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical power remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort, even without his Horcruxes.”(2)

“Such as a group of wizards trained by the High Priestess of Avalon.”

“Precisely. I once again have to say, your display of magical prowess during the battle at the Ministry was beyond impressive.”

“It's the destiny I must face; the Lady of the Lake has only provided me with proper tools so I might succeed. Further practice, and there will be nothing Tom can do to protect himself against me. The Goddess has made me her champion against the imbalance he has caused.”

Dumbledore wanted to object to such a declaration, but realized it was likely true, considering the Lady of the Lake had most certainly visited Hogwarts back in October. This meeting had bore plenty of fruit, but there were still questions he had to think over. The young wizard in front of him was obviously still set on the path meant for him, and perhaps, with a few gentle nudges, could be brought back fully under the headmaster's sphere of control.

“Professor,” Rasalas questioned, “I would like access to the restricted section of the library. Given the list of reading materials Mr. Flint passed me, I might need access to further materials.”

The twinkle was back full-force as Dumbledore inclined his head.

“I'll see that Madam Pince is made aware. I also invite you to access my private library here in my office, if you're so inclined.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

The meeting was interrupted as Kreacher popped into the room.

“Kreacher is bringing Master Rasalas his list of books,” he croaked.

“Oh. Great. Err... did you find all of them?”

“It did take some time,” the elf croaked, “but yes, Kreacher was able to find all of the books. Master Marcus has them presently.”

“Well done then!”

Rasalas turned back to the headmaster. “It looks like I have some reading to do. I need to get back to the sanctuary and check on Ryan and Aaron.”

“I'll send you a Patronus should I uncover further information.”

“Likewise,” said Rasalas, standing. “Sir, we might have a difference in opinion on a number of things, but we do still fight the same common enemy. Whether you want to believe it or not, I'll always fight for what is right, what is just—doing anything other would only anger the Goddess, not to mention sullying my parents' memory.”

With that, Rasalas slipped out of the office with Kreacher, leaving behind a thoughtful headmaster.

Finally arriving at the guest suite, they passed through the door into the sanctuary. There, he found a welcome sight in Aaron being awake, though he still remained in bed. He still looked very pale, but all in all, his injury looked much better by this point.

“How are you?”

“Groggy and hungry,” Aaron answered.

“Right... err... that would make sense. No pain though.”

“None.”

“I'll still summon Madam Pomfrey, she'll want to check you over herself. And it's getting close to lunch, so I'm sure Dobby will bring something in for you.”

“Ryan says you were speaking to the headmaster,” said Aaron.

“About the memory from Slughorn, yeah. The meeting was productive. And Kreacher has collected the books from the list Flint gave me at the ball.”

“He's helping still?”

“We've had a couple of rather lengthy conversations, yeah. And speaking of... the book list he gave me... Kreacher's been able to locate them, so I need to meet with him again. There's a lot of reading ahead.... and I think lunch should be ready soon.”

“I'll m-m-make sure Aaron gets something,” said Ryan.

“Glad to see you're all right.”

Rasalas left the room, now somewhat bolstered by Aaron's recovery. That was a piece of good news, as was Kreacher's return. Indeed, there was a lot of reading ahead, but necessary. The one concern, though, was what Marcus wanted. Protection from his parents and the Dark Lord couldn't be his only desire. He was a hardcore Slytherin, at one time one of the worst—that according to the Weasleys.

However, the sanctuary did let him in without issue. So clearly the man was redeemable. Still. What did he really want? It was the single nagging question in the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas has a conversation with Kate about several things; Aaron continues to recover, leading to an uncomfortable conversation surrounding the once-again barred door back to Camelot; and Rasalas crashes yet another Death Eater meeting, causing the Dark Lord to lose something important..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: The scene in Dumbledore's office is compressed a lot, considering that Rasalas is aware of the Horcruxes already, and given the strained relationship between the pair, he's sort of forcing things a bit._
> 
> _(1) Taken from p.411, Half Blood Prince, Canadian soft-cover edition._   
> _(2) Taken from p.475, Half Blood Prince, Canadian soft-cover edition._


	42. Dark Plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas has a conversation with Kate about several things; Aaron continues to recover, leading to an uncomfortable conversation surrounding the once-again barred door back to Camelot; and Rasalas crashes yet another Death Eater meeting, causing the Dark Lord to lose something important..._

**303\. DARK PLOTS**  
 **January, 2007**

> “ _Every time I go out to eat I see small groups of people gathered around circular tables, and I wonder what conspiracies exist all around in the roundest of tables that surround me.”_

  
― _Jarod Kintz, Whenever You're Gone, I'm Here For You_  


* * *

_Unknown Location_

Three individuals sat clustered around a small table in a dimly-lit room. All wore hoods which obscured their faces.

“I have conducted surveillance on the property,” spoke the first.

“And?”

“Powerful wards powered with ancient magic. Ordinary means will only result in discovery and defeat, likely our deaths. The property is patrolled around the clock by at least four Canadian Aurors.”

“Then we will operate through extraordinary means... perhaps using methods our Lord may not approve of... but that will be neither here nor there, should we succeed,” spoke the second. “The Mudblood's parents run some sort of business that has Muggles coming and going frequently during the day, never mind the occasional delivery.”

“Packages,” said the third, “Then that could be our method of disruption. Have you been able to determine where the ward anchors might be?”

“No. The wards were goblin-erected... I could detect some of the original magic... now... ancient magic.”

“It shouldn't matter too much,” said the second, “The sort of disruption I have in mind will most certainly interrupt the wards, if only for a few seconds.”

“And a few seconds is all we need,” said the first. “Let's figure out what sort of things are being sent to the business.”

“How will we neutralize the blood-traitor?” questioned the third.

“I will get word to our brothers and sisters working across the border. With their targets here, it makes no sense for them to remain there,” said the first. “And our master is offering a substantial reward for Gibson's head, though I think it will be substantially higher, should we turn him over alive. _Filthy Muggle_ , thinks he can humiliate our brothers and sisters with parlour tricks, without suffering some sort of penalty.”

There came a round of laughter.

“Oh, I think it should be only proper that Gibson and Potter be presented together. Such a gift would swell the master's heart,” the second cackled.

“After they witness the death of everyone else on the property,” said the first, “Just so they have no illusions as to our reach, and our power.”

That brought on another round of laughter.

* * *

On January 4, Rasalas was finally able to speak with Kate regarding the terrible events that took place on New Year's Day. She collected the vial containing his memory of the event, before asking, “Everyone's okay?”

“Yeah, at this point,” Rasalas answered, “Aaron was hurt pretty badly, but Madam Pomfrey fixed him up pretty well... he's just needing a bit more bed rest. The rest of us... got a few scrapes and bruises at the most. We were pretty lucky... Voldemort was there—I mean, he cursed Aaron, right.”

“What did Viviane have to say about it? Has she—”

“We're locked out of both Camelot and Avalon again for some reason,” Rasalas answered, scowling, “This time it's Cai and Accolon with me, and Arthur stuck back in Camelot. And quite honestly, I'm a bit concerned. I mean, the door locked for a week last time... but... I don't feel like I've done anything wrong.”

“Just breathe, Rasalas. Everything always works out in the end.”

“Now you're sounding like Theresa,” Rasalas muttered.

“You've spoken to her?”

“Earlier this morning. I've actually been busy with a bunch of research. You know of Marcus Flint?”

“His parents are on a watch list, I think. Suspected Death Eaters,” said Kate.

“They were arrested at the ministry four days ago. Thing is, Marcus asked for my protection during the New Year's Eve party at Hogwarts.”

Kate gave Rasalas a look of concern. “And you granted it to him? Rasalas... be careful.”

“As both Ron and Hermione have warned me several times already. But... he's here in the sanctuary, and you know what kind of security there is here. If he wished me harm, he'd never be able to set foot here.”

“Still, be cautious in your dealings with him,” Kate warned.

“I sort of apply that to everyone nowadays, save for a few people. Brady and his family, or Ryan and his family, my fellow knights, Arthur... Ron and his family, Hermione... Y'know, it really saddens me that I have only a short list of people I trust without question.”

“There is no fault in caution. Now my question is, what is Mr. Flint doing here?”

“Teaching me a few things about certain pureblood traditions, old family laws, and other rubbish they seem to lean on. He's got an interesting plan of attack—to use that knowledge against them. Use it as a demonstration as to exactly why these sort of things should be outlawed and abolished.

“In fact... I would love for the two of you to sit down and have a chat. Just keep in mind, these tactics will never ever be used against people here. My targets are all back in England. And once our little revolution is over and done with, they'll never see the light of day again.”

Kate frowned, but she gave a nod. “All right. When did you have in mind?”

“Now?”

* * *

_January 10, 2007_

Just before dinner, Madam Pomfrey arrived by floo to have one more look at Aaron. He'd been getting progressively better, and now, over a week after the injury, she at last cleared him to get up.

“Do not over exert yourself. No physical training for another week,” she ordered, “And if you experience sudden discomfort, fire-call me at once.”

Aaron swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat up.

“Here, l-l-lean on me a bit,” Ryan offered. Aaron took him up on the offer, and was helped to his feet.

“Take it slowly, Mr. Watson.”

“I know, I know.”

“How does your abdomen feel?”

“Fine. A little tender, but... fine otherwise.”

“I stress again, keep your activities to a minimum. No lifting, no stretching for the next week. I'll also keep you on the potions regimen so everything heals up nicely.”

“I'll keep him resting,” Ryan promised.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “No strenuous activities also extends to what you might normally do in the bedroom.”

That earned a grin from Rasalas, and scowls from Ryan and  Aaron .

“I do have to get back to the hospital wing. I stress, do not overdo things or push yourself too hard, Mr. Watson, or I will confine you to the hospital wing until you are fully healed.”

“I have school stuff I have to get caught up on anyway,” said Aaron, as they walked out to the common area.

“Good. Now as I said, fire-call me if there is any discomfort. I'll be by to check on you in the morning.”

Madam Pomfrey activated the floo, and vanished in the green flames.

For the first time since the beginning of the month, they all ate dinner in the dining room. The funeral-like atmosphere had finally lifted, and Dobby had gone all-out, making enough food to feed an army. Ryan was overjoyed at having his mate back, with the pair sitting dangerously close to one another in a repeat of the Yule feast.

Though Rasalas wanted to be happy for them, a pang of resentment welled up in the pit of his stomach. Even with  Aaron being injured as badly as he was, Ryan hadn't been outright separated from him. Rasalas, on the other hand, had been abruptly separated from the one he'd fallen in love with. Separated by a door that was immune to every bit of magic Rasalas knew—he'd even tried blasting the thing out of anger one evening. Perhaps it was better if it hadn't worked, he realized.

Both Cai and Accolon had been good sports about the problem, but Rasalas could tell they were becoming more and more unsettled, the longer they were separated from the world they knew. Perhaps the worst part was not knowing. What if the situation were permanent? Could they adapt to life in the twenty-first century? Not that there would be much choice in the matter, of course.

Perhaps, Rasalas might have to begin teaching them about current affairs, matters that they would need to know about, when being out in public. The question then was, how long did he wait before doing so? How long did he wait, before admitting there was no hope in returning to Camelot?

“Rasalas?”

“Sorry?”

“You look troubled,” said Accolon.

They had all had more than their fill, and had declined dessert when it was offered.

“I... I have this gnawing feeling of dread that... we may never get back to Camelot.”

“But the d-d-door—“

“It's broken, guys. The thing is, how long do I wait... before I admit we're not going back? How long before I have to start teaching these guys—“ Rasalas gestured to Accolon and Cai, “—about our world, what they need to know so they can get along in it?”

“Ah. I understand your quandary,” said Cai, “To do so, you would also admit that you will not see Arthur again.”

“Yeah. It's exactly that,” said Rasalas, sadly.

“Just t-t-trust the Goddess, Ras. There's a reason for everything.”

“Says you, while Aaron sits at your side!” Rasalas fumed.

Brady gave him a swat. “'an it ain't their fault either.”

“Sorry... didn't mean to say that,” Rasalas apologized.

“We get it, bro. I'd be just as twisted in your shoes,” Aaron agreed. “Uh. Listen. I've been on my back for over a week, and I'd love to go skating.”

“Madam Pomfrey said...”

“She can fuck off,” said Aaron, “Woman's a dark witch when it comes to patients, I think.”

That had Bill smirking. The man had effectively moved into Rasalas' house since back in the fall, having transferred to the Toronto branch of Gringotts. It was agreed on that come the end of the school year, both Ron and Ginny would spend the summer with Rasalas, since there were still no immediate plans to rebuild the Burrow.

“I think Ron said something along the same line,” Rasalas agreed. “But yeah... I think having a skate might be a great idea.”

“I'll go let Ma know w-w-what we're doing, she might come j-j-join us.”

* * *

_Early hours, January 14_

It had been yet another restless nights' sleep. With him getting less and less rest, the frequency at which he was finding himself in the mind of his nemesis was increasing. More often than not, it was simply a second, maybe two. Then, there were the infrequent occasions, where he was treated to several minutes. Most of the time it was something useless, with the Dark Lord ranting about something, or cursing one of his followers. Then, there was  _this_ particular incident. 

Rasalas didn't immediately recognize the location, other than a medium-sized table, and a large fireplace, where Nagini coiled up beside it, warming herself. Belletrix Lestrange was also present, along with two goblins.

“With the Potter brat being more frequent visitors at the bank, it does raise concern that he might begin asking delicate questions,” said Belletrix.

“We could move the item to a higher-security vault,” said one of the goblins.

“No. If our Lord would permit, we might offer a different solution.”

Voldemort gestured absently. “Proceed.”

“Griphook is his account manager. Regstone is also a senior account manager. It would be rather simple to arrange a _replacement_.” 

The goblin showed all his pointy teeth after emphasizing 'replacement'. Rasalas mentally snorted. Right. Replacement. More like, permanent retirement, six feet under.

“My Lord... we should still consider moving the item—“

“The item will remain at Gringotts,” said Voldemort, dangerously, “Though I expect security to be sufficiently tightened, knowing the insufferable brat.”

“Of course, My Lord,” said both goblins, bowing low.

Rasalas was then fully awake, his heart thumping in his chest. Voldemort had something really important hidden in a vault at Gringotts. Goblins were plotting to kill Griphook and replace him. Voldemort. Goblins. Gringotts.  _Horcrux_ . Dumbledore had been spot on.

“BILL!!!”

There came a bang and several thumps from the set of rooms next to his.

“Wha's wrong?” came Brady's confused voice from across the room.

A few moments later, the eldest Weasley framed the doorway, looking out of sorts, still trying to wrestle his way into a tee shirt.

“Har—Rasalas? What's wrong?”

“Goblins working with Voldemort... they're plotting to kill Griphook... and I think there's a Horcrux being hidden at Gringotts.”

“They're doing what... there's what, where?”

“What's going on?” asked Aaron, also now framing the doorway, with Ryan a step behind. Both Cai and Accolon were soon right behind them.

“We... there's a problem. Let's go to the common room.” Rasalas was already collecting the pensieve from a dresser.

Once back out in the common room, where Marcus joined them, Rasalas pulled out the appropriate memory, and dropped it into the pensieve. Luckily, it was rather short, and he simply waited for everyone to see it.

“We have to contact Griphook immediately.”

“Yeah, agreed. Then what?”

“I'll need that memory. Goblin nation is officially neutral in the war, since the matter is between wizards. Goblins are told not to be involved, and this... this is a violation of that—discounting the rather overt plan to usurp a long-time account manager.”

At Ryan, Aaron, and Brady's questioning look, Bill added, “The only way an account manager would be replaced is if there was improper dealings, or he dies. Given Griphook has a strong record in his favor, it would be the latter.”

“It is assumed the pair of goblins appearing here will answer for their transgressions?” questioned Cai.

“Count on it,” said Bill, “The Goblin nation can be brutal with their take on justice.”

“Their final hours will likely be excruciatingly painful,” Rasalas added, “There's no such thing as 'cruel and unusual' when it comes to goblin justice.”

* * *

Early the following morning, Rasalas once again found himself seeing through the eyes of the Dark Lord. It was the same place he'd seen much earlier, this time with a number of Death Eaters present. Nagini was once again warming herself by the fireplace.

“...with the interruption in the fall, Draco has been making progress,” said Yaxley, in a bored tone, “The boy apparently holds merit after all.”

“And the other unit is confirmed to be intact?” questioned a witch at the far end of the table.

Rasalas sighed, pulling back to full-awakeness. If the Dark Lord insisted on interrupting his sleep, then perhaps he needed to start interrupting the Dark Lord's meetings, beginning immediately. He closed his eyes, and focused on the location he'd just seen, and within seconds, found himself an unwelcome visitor to the proceeding—not that they knew it yet.

“I disagree,” growled Fenrir Greyback, “The Malfoy name doesn't carry a lot of weight as of late.”

“I will not have you insulting the Malfoy name,” Lucius snapped, “We have contributed many resources and influence to our cause. Tell us, Fenrir, what are your immediate contributions?”

“Fleas, of course!” Rasalas exclaimed, making himself visible. 

He had to smirk, seeing a few pained expressions from the gathering.

“Aww, come on, I had so much _fun_ during my last visit!”

Lucius raised his wand to launch a curse, but his wife stopped him.

“It's no use, he's immune to most magic.”

“No, by all means, let him try! Blowing up the room is fun!” Rasalas mocked, “At least for me it is. Say, Mr. Malfoy, been home recently? Charred is a rather interesting decor choice, I have to admit... I didn't think it would suit you.”

Lucius looked like he was about to go off like a volcano. At this point, both Narcissa and the wizard sitting on the other side of him were keeping him in his seat.

It was then Nagini raised her head to hiss at the intruder.

“ _Oh, hello, Nagini. Y'know, you can do better than this,_ ” Rasalas hissed.

“ _I think not,_ ” the snake answered coldly, “ _Master provides._ ”

“ _A lousy existence, if you ask me. But, your loss_. Right. Where was I? Oh yeah.”

Rasalas strode into the middle of the table, and concentrated a moment, then smirked.

“Is there any particular reason you interrupt our meeting, Potter?” Voldemort demanded.

“No, not really.”

It was then that those close to the shade realized what he'd done, as something truly dreadful-smelling filled the air once again. The entertainment was short-lived, however, as most present simply produced bubble-charms.

“Aww, I put a lot of effort into that,” Rasalas smirked. “Oh. I have something better, then!”

He spun around in a circle, making a sweeping motion with his right arm, causing a whirlwind of what looked like dust to spin out and away from him, coating the table and those seated around it in a fine powder.

“What have you done—aaaah! It burns!” Greyback shrieked, leaping out of his seat, and practically dancing around the room.

Soon, others were quick to follow, all feeling like they were being eaten alive by tiny insects.

Voldemort, meanwhile, remained seated at the table, looking near-volcanic.

“What have you done to my followers, you meddling boy!?” he ground out.

“Three words: Peruvian. Itching. Powder. Dad used to torture the Slytherins with it. Most particularly when he wanted to get a point across. Some of you will likely remember his mischief.”

Everyone was too busy scratching to answer.

“Hmm... since you're all... _buzzing about_... let's help things along a little more.”

Another wide sweep of the hand, and the air became filled with what looked like thousands of angry bees.  _Africanized_ bees, to be precise. Their stings were known to be particularly painful—and fatal, if one were subjected to enough of them.

Now, Voldemort himself was forced to take action, as these tiny creatures most definitely posed a real threat. Maybe not directly to himself, but to his followers, as incompetent as they were at times. They weren't being exactly intelligent about the problem, though, considering they were busy dealing with the first matter, they couldn't be completely faulted in the circumstance.

Rasalas, meanwhile, wandered over to the fireplace, where Nagini was watching. Dumbledore did suspect she was a Horcrux... so the question... was it possible to take her? He grinned madly, while the snake lunged at him. “ _Your bites can not hurt me. Meanwhile... let us see if I can do this..._ ” he hissed.

He returned to full alertness, feeling the snake fall across his chest. Before she had a chance to strike, he stunned her. Now... what to do with her? Sleep first, then bring her to Dumbledore. That would be the best plan.

For now... Rasalas gestured to a vacant spot against the wall, creating a large glass enclosure. Nagini was stunned, so no worries about escaping, so it would be more than adequate. He levitated the snake into the enclosure. Now. To try and get— _AAAAAAAH_ ! Oh yes, the Dark Lord was seeing red at the moment. Angry because of something Rasalas had done. 

He had to grin, even though his scar was throbbing. Pissing off the Dark Lord? He could live with a little discomfort then. Satisfied with the temporary arrangement, Rasalas climbed back into bed, with the intent of getting a few hours' rest. Perhaps the Dark Lord would shut up for a while...

He was jarred awake what seemed like only moments later, as there came a yell, and a series of loud bangs, immediately followed by a horrible, keening wail, which sent shivers down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas begins to flex his political muscles; an accident in the Room of Requirement results in a massive fire; and Brady's not all that impressed with Rasalas' latest stunt..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So... the last scene... anyone want to take a guess as to what's happened? Let's see how many people remember something from Act 2. And I'm not citing conversations with Dumbledore here._


	43. Invocations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas begins to flex his political muscles; an accident in the Room of Requirement results in a massive fire; and Brady's not all that impressed with Rasalas' latest stunt..._

**304\. INVOCATIONS  
January, 2007**

> “ _I have as much authority as the Pope, I just don't have as many people who believe it.”_  
> 

  
_\- George Carlin_   


* * *

In a heartbeat, Rasalas was on his feet, both hands poised to summon and cast spells should it be necessary. Thumps and bangs from outside the room told him that whatever it was, the entire sanctuary had heard it.

“Brady?! What—”

“What the hell 'ya tryin' to do t'me, Rasalas!? I swear to God, I'm gon' whoop your ass one of these days...”

Rasalas flung a hand at the light, bringing it to life, and now he understood what was wrong: Nagini's corpse lay draped over the broken remains of the enclosure. Brady still brandished his pistol, looking deathly white.

It was then the door flew open, and both Ryan and his boyfriend rushed in, only to stop short.

“W-w-w-what's going on?”

“It's over. Just...” Rasalas fumbled in his pouch for a calming draught, and passed it to Brady. “Here.”

While Brady took it, the others had walked into the room, also looking momentarily confused, until they realized whatever the disturbance had been was over and done with. Brady passed the empty vial back, but scowled.

“Now explain!” he all but demanded.

“Voldemort was being a pain earlier, so I visited him again,” Rasalas answered, “I decided to try something, and... well... it worked a bit better than expected. I... I'm sorry. I forgot you don't like snakes a whole lot.”

“Understatement.”

“So what happened?” Aaron pressed. “I'm guessing Ras built the enclosure...”

“Needed to use the bathroom. I was crossin' the room an it—” Brady jabbed a finger at the dead snake, “— come at me 'an I shot it.”

Brady glared at Rasalas again. “Still debatin' whether I should shoot your ass too.”

“I'm sorry,” Rasalas apologized for a second time, “Really... I did stun her.”

That earned another glare. “Oh, so it's a 'her', is it?”

“What reason would you have for taking Voldemort's snake?” questioned Accolon.

Marcus, meanwhile, looked somewhere between impressed, and awed.

“You waltzed into the Dark Lord's location, and escaped with his familiar?”

Rasalas grinned. “Something like that. Oh. Only after interrupting his meeting with Peruvian Itching Powder, and killer bees. It proved to be a rather useful distraction.”

“W-w-well, that proves it. Dude, you're out of your t-t-tree.”

“Still ain't explainin' why 'ya took 'er.”

“She was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.”

“Sure that was a wise idea, Rasalas?” questioned Bill, “Just taking her, he'll likely now have a suspicion we know.”

“Then we have a busy day ahead. I have a strong suspicion one of them is in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts.”

“ _Pater Familias,_ ” said Marcus.

Rasalas furrowed his brows. “Peter... what?”

“Pater Familias. Translates literally to 'Father of the family',” Marcus explained. “You know Belletrix was born a Black?”

“Yeah. I already have a few things in mind in terms of punishment.”

“You know what you are searching for? At Gringotts?”

“A small cup or chalice, owned by Helga Hufflepuff.”

“You can have the bank search the Lestrange vault for it,” said Marcus. “It is your right as _Pater Familias_.”

“And he'd be able to do that with anyone of Black blood,” Aaron realized.

“Right.”

“And that would then explain why you approached Rasalas on New Year's Eve,” said Accolon.

“Though several generations removed, I still have Black blood,” said Marcus, “A trace is all that is needed for him to have sway over a person.”

“And even without... I can still extend protection to someone,” said Rasalas, gesturing to Brady.

“As your punishment of five Muggles and their families back in the spring demonstrate,” said Marcus. “What? Do not be surprised, there are a few in and about the ministry who know of what was done.”

“If Dumbledore ever finds out...” Bill began.

“I'd rather he didn't, but.. if he does, he can shut the fuck up. He's not lily-white, and neither am I. Right. If we're all up and awake, let's get something to eat. I need to visit Gringotts sooner rather than later.”

After having a quick bite to eat, and consuming a pepper-up potion, Rasalas, Brady, and Bill travelled by floo powder to Diagon Alley, and made a quick track for Gringotts. There, Bill requested a meeting with the head goblin, and a gesture to Rasalas had the teller hurry off through a hidden door behind the counter. He returned a few minutes later.

“If you will all follow me.”

Rasalas and his friends followed the goblin, as he led them through a number of corridors, up several flights of stairs, to finally arrive at a conference room. Within, was a long table, and at the far end, sat a particularly ancient-looking goblin.

“Mr. Black,” he spoke, “What can I do for you?”

“I am exercising the authority of _Pater Familias_ ,” Rasalas answered, “How familiar is Gringotts with artefacts belonging to the founders of Hogwarts?”

“Well enough, Lord Black,” answered the head goblin. Invoking head of house rights also demanded the proper use of titles.

“I believe an artefact belonging to Helga Hufflepuff is being held in the Lestrange vault.”

“I see.”

The head goblin pressed a finger to a single page of parchment in front of him, and moments later, another goblin stepped into the room.

“I require a manifest of known artefacts belonging to Helga Hufflepuff.”

“Hold a moment,” said Rasalas, “I'm also looking for information on known artefacts belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw.”

The head goblin gave a nod. “Then we shall also collect that manifest as well.”

The goblin assistant hurried out of the room.

“Might I ask what reason you might be seeking these items?” questioned the head goblin.

“This information cannot leave this room,” said Rasalas.

“Rasalas. Any conversations held here are considered private,” said Bill, “You can tell him.”

“Both Dumbledore and I are certain that the Dark Lord has created Horcruxes,” said Rasalas, “One of them was destroyed by accident less than an hour ago.”

That earned a glare from Brady.

The head goblin, meanwhile, looked angry.

“Lord Black, if this is true, we will destroy the object ourselves. Gringotts does allow great latitude with what a person may place in their vault; however, there are a select few items we consider to be forbidden, such vile 'soul-containers' being one of them.”

“I was aware there are a number of items that cannot be brought into the bank. Rasalas, this is a good thing. They'll seize the vault's contents,” said Bill.

“Additionally, madam Lestrange will no longer be welcome at Gringotts,” said the head goblin, showing all of his pointy teeth.

Rasalas smirked right back. “Good. It's one less revenue source for Voldemort.”

“Might I ask how many he's managed to create?” questioned the head goblin.

“Six. Three have been destroyed, I have one in my possession in a secure location, and we somewhat know the identity of the others. One thing Dumbledore and I are certain of, they're all something significant... something of symbolic importance. Slytherin's locket, a journal or diary belonging to Tom Riddle—”

“Voldemort's real name,” Brady remembered.

“Yeah. There was a ring that belonged to his grandfather, his snake—she was destroyed just before we came here... that leaves two more... something belonging to Hufflepuff, and something belonging to Ravenclaw.”

It was then the goblin aide returned, bringing two heavy stacks of parchment.

“Brady, you mind giving me a hand? It's a cup. Might have handles, or it might not.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

While Brady began leafing through the stack of parchment pertaining to Hufflepuff, Rasalas began searching through the stack which covered Ravenclaw. This one was a little more difficult, considering he wasn't really sure of what he might be looking for. Something of significance, that was all he knew.

Wait. He'd stopped at a drawing of what looked like a tiara. He squinted to read the text:  _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure._ Hadn't he heard that somewhere before?

“This has to be it. Uh... may I keep this? I'll need to show this to a friend who might know more about it... and possibly where it might be located.”

“By all means,” said the head goblin, “These are only copies of original documents.”

Certain of what he was looking for from Ravenclaw, he then took part of the pile from Brady, to speed things along. Contrary to Brady, he'd seen what the cup actually looked like, thanks to the memory Dumbledore had shared—

“How 'bout this?” Brady asked.

“That's it. Excellent.” Rasalas took the page of parchment, and pushed it toward the head goblin. “Exercising my rights as _Pater Familias_ , I want the vault belonging to Belletrix Lestrange nee Black searched for this item.”

“We will begin the search at once, Lord Black,” said the aide, picking up the page of parchment. He hurried from the room.

“Somethin's botherin' me here. If the bank here's got tight security, how's it Lestrange still managed to bring a banned object in the bank in the first place?”

The head goblin looked at Brady, and gave a nod. “That would be a very good question, Mr. Gibson.”

“There was the ugly incident not all that long ago,” said Bill. “The Death Eaters did have a goblin helping them out.”

“What stops 'em from havin' more?”

“You think Voldemort has spies within the bank,” said Rasalas.

Brady gave a nod. “Yeah.”

“That would... Merlin, the implication of that,” said Bill, “Thousands of accounts could be compromised at a minimum. Client privilege...”

“Indeed, Mr. Weasley,” the head goblin agreed, “Very dark circumstances, should this scenario be more than just speculation. Nonetheless, an internal audit and investigation will be launched at once. We pride ourselves on honesty and integrity when it comes to the matters of our clients.”

“Rasalas. Why don't you head on out and begin the search for the second item?” Bill suggested, “I'll stay here and work with the bank.”

“Good thinking. It's getting on to breakfast at the school, I need to speak with Hermione. She might be able to point me in the right direction.”

“Good luck, Lord Black,” said the head goblin.

“I thank you and Gringotts for your assistance today.”

Rasalas turned to Brady. “Grab my arm.”

“What... oh.”

“Apparition will not work here, Lord Black.”

“I travel by different means.” 

Both Rasalas and Brady simply faded from view. Both Bill and the head goblin were rather startled.

* * *

Brady and Rasalas landed back in the sanctuary's parlour. Rasalas couldn't help but grin.

“That'll have them in a twist.”

“'an it ain't as fucked up as your... other way.”

“Apparition. Yeah, it's a messy way of travel compared to ghosting.”

“Still mad at 'ya though.”

“Really. I'm sorry. I completely forgot you hated snakes,” said Rasalas, as they stepped through the door leading into the guest suite at Hogwarts. “Be thankful you weren't here a few years ago though.”

“The basilisk,” Brady remembered. He visually shivered.

“It's something I don't remember in the first-person, and quite honestly, it's something I hope I never remember.”

A few minutes later, and they stepped into the great hall. Breakfast was well under way, but the noise level very quickly dropped, as people noticed the pair making a track for the Gryffindor table. Considering both Rasalas and Brady had gone with their leather jackets, they stood out. A glance up at the head table, and bingo... the patented 'disappointed' look from the headmaster.

“'mornin' Harry... err... Mr. Gibson,” Ron greeted.

“Hi guys. Uh... listen, I need a little help with something,” said Rasalas, reaching into his pouch, and pulling out the drawing. “Hermione, I'm looking for this.”

Hermione took the page of parchment, and studied it a moment. “This... this might be Ravenclaw's Diadem.”

“We need to find it.”

“What for? Harry, it's not been seen for centuries.”

Rasalas sighed mentally. “There has to be someone here who might know more.”

“Luna,” said Ginny, “She's sitting over there.” She discreetly pointed to the blonde witch sitting at the far end of the Ravenclaw table.

“Oh. Brilliant. Thanks, guys.”

Reclaiming the parchment, both Rasalas and Brady then worked their way down the row, to where Luna was sitting.

“Hi Harry,” she greeted, half-turning on the bench so she could face them. “Oh. Err... Mr. Gibson.”

Rasalas gave her a warm smile, and did not correct her, but said, “Luna, could I have a word with you in private?”

“Of course.”

A flurry of whispers started, as Luna stood up, leaving her partially-finished breakfast behind.

“How have you been keeping?” she asked, as they made for the door.

“On most accounts, doing much better than last year.”

“You look better. The Goddess has been good for you.”

“She has,” Rasalas agreed, as they stepped out into the entry hall. “This way. I'd rather we speak in private.”

They ducked into a vacant classroom, and Rasalas gestured in a circle, casting a strong privacy charm.

“Right. I won't take a lot of time, but... what do you know about Ravenclaw's lost Diadem?” 

Rasalas had fished out the page of parchment the bank had provided him with, and held it in front of him. Luna carefully took it, and gazed at it for what seemed like several minutes—but in reality it had only been a few seconds.

“Harry... no one alive has seen it. Where did you find this?”

“Surely—“

“Harry. I said, no one alive has seen it. It's obvious isn't it? You have to talk to someone who's _dead._ ”(1)

“I. Oh. One of the ghosts.”

“The Grey Lady. She knows what you seek, but getting her to answer may prove difficult. She's... rather sensitive.”

“Great. As if this isn't difficult as it is.”

“Harry...”

“Thank you, Luna. You've been very helpful.”

“You won't be separated from him forever.”

“What?”

“Trust the Goddess, Harry, everything happens for a reason,” said Luna, dreamily. With that, the privacy charm fell, and she swept from the room, leaving two very confused young people behind.

“How'd she know?” Brady asked.

“I... I don't know. I didn't know her well at all, we never shared classes. But... what Hermione and Ron have told me, she's... she sees the world a little differently I guess. It could be seer blood or something, but that's just a guess.”

“This ghost we're needin' to talk to... remember what Flint said?”

“Making a fool of myself in the school's entry hall.”

“'an makin' him a liar. Has he lied to 'ya yet?”

“Well... I guess not.”

“Then trust 'im.”

“All right. Let's go then.”

It only took about a minute for the pair of them to get to the entry hall. There, Rasalas instantly got a flash-memory from years prior.

“Ras?”

“My first time setting foot here,” the young wizard answered, as they descended the stairs. Rasalas then stood on the enormous Hogwarts shield. There were only a few people around, so... if this was a stupid prank, it wouldn't look too ridiculous.

“Well?” Brady pressed.

Rasalas took a breath, went down on one knee, and bowed his head. “I am Sir Rasalas Antares Black...” He found further words filling his head, “In the service of his majesty King Arthur the first, by the grace of God and the Goddess, servant of the isle of Avalon.”

The floor actually shuddered, as Rasalas felt a tremendous surge of energy race from foot to head, and back. He could have sworn the torches providing light for the hall actually flared up a moment, before returning to normal.

“Bloody hell...”

“ _Welcome young knight,_ ” came a voice. He knew he was the only one to hear it. Female, middle-age, if he had to guess.

“ _Who... who are you?_ ” he answered mentally.

“ _I am the embodiment of the castle, young one,_ ” the voice answered.

“ _So Hogwarts is alive?_ ”

“ _As was Camelot. Many of the stones from the ruins were moved and incorporated into Hogwarts._ ”

“Rasalas?” Brady asked, looking concerned.

“Just... give me a few moments. But... wow.”

“ _What does this mean? Marcus just told me to... well..._ ” he then questioned mentally.

“ _You should now have access to my wards, though the headmaster still retains control through his title._ ”

“ _You sound displeased._ ”

“ _He has neglected many of the features of my wards that are meant to keep students safe. So many incidents which have taken place within my walls could easily be prevented, if the wards were functioning correctly.”_

“ _Once Voldemort has been dealt with, I will deal with Dumbledore,"_ Rasalas promised, _"The man has done a lot of damage to me personally, never mind the meddling here in the castle. Now... I need to speak with Helena Ravenclaw. Might you know where I can find her?”_

“ _You have access to my wards, young knight. Simply pose the question, and it will be answered.”_

Rasalas concentrated on the question, and posed it to the castle's wards. It was no different than manipulating the wards back in the sanctuary, or at his home, for that matter; only a moment later, he had his answer.

“Right. This way.”

“Ras... what's goin' on?”

“Just trust me. We just gained an important ally.”

Minutes later, they arrived at a corridor on the fourth floor that contained a number of unused rooms. A ghostly female figure could be seen floating at the far end.

“Helena Ravenclaw?” Rasalas spoke.

“Who wants to know?” the ghost questioned, coldly.

“I am Sir Rasalas Black, and this is Sir Brady Gibson. We are agents of Avalon, tasked with destroying the one named Tom Riddle.”

“I see,” said Helena. “And what do you need of me, young knights?”

“We seek your mother's Diadem.”

The ghostly figure quite literally flew at them, looking furious—downright scary, if Rasalas had to admit.

“So you can taint it further?!” she stormed.

“No to destroy it!” Rasalas answered, hastily. He calmed himself, continuing, “I know what he's done. He let honeyed words flow off his tongue, promising the same thing... only to corrupt it to further his own end, to guarantee himself immortality.

“I'm not here on my own account, Lady Ravenclaw. I come here as a representative of the Goddess... an agent of Avalon, tasked with restoring balance to our present. Destroying your mother's diadem is one of the tasks that must be done, before I can then destroy Tom Riddle for good.”

“Look for a room on the seventh floor corridor, opposite a painting which features a wizard attempting to teach trolls to dance the ballet,” said Helena.

“Seriously?” Brady asked, “I gotta see that.”

“ _It is known as the Room of Requirement_ ,” came the voice of the castle. This time, both Rasalas and Brady could hear her. “ _Pace thrice in front of the wall opposite the painting, while speaking of your need._ ”

“The place where Ravenclaw's Diadem is hidden... would that suffice?”

“I believe so.”

“So this... room of requirement... it's like your sanctuary or whatever,” Brady guessed.

“The lesser of the two artefacts,” Rasalas answered, “Given to the Ravenclaw family, years before Hogwarts was built.”

“Mother incorporated the artefact into the school during its construction,” answered Helena. “You have its opposite, Sir Rasalas?”

“As was gifted to the Peverell family. You are quite welcome to come visit. The sanctuary... well, as I've called it... it's connected to Hogwarts presently, given I have ongoing business here.”

“Uh... Ras... we's wastin' time.”

“Oh. Apologies, but Brady's right. We're on a bit of a tight schedule.”

“I will lead you to the room, young knights,” Helena offered. She had softened considerably since the beginning of the meeting.

Arriving at the painting, Rasalas began to pace back and forth in front of the blank section of wall opposite. 'I need the place where the diadem is hidden... I need the place where the diadem is hidden... I need the place where the diadem is hidden...' he repeated in his head... and was pleased when, on the third pass, a set of heavy wooden doors began to materialize. Both Brady and Rasalas hurried inside, only to come to a screeching halt only a few feet from the door.

“Jesus Christ,” Brady muttered.

Rasalas could only stare, wide-eyed at what they had found.

It was an indoor rubbish heap. Simple as that. If it could be imagined, it was likely in that very room at that very moment. Cabinets, chairs, tables, all of them suffering some sort of damage... potions which had long since spoiled... Fanged Frisbees—some of them still somewhat functioning... and books... thousands and thousands of books, defaced, stolen, banned? Who knew? It had been the dumping ground of countless generations of Hogwarts students, likely going back to when the castle was built.

“Have to bring Dumbledore in here... and Professor McGonagall... and Professor Snape. _Bloody hell_...”

He flung a hand at the doors, slamming them shut. Last thing they needed was for unwanted visitors while they searched.

“Right. So... take that side, I'll take this one,” Rasalas decided, “And be careful. Unbelievable the amount of rubbish in here.”

“Fuckin' fire trap, Ras. This goes up, it'll burn for days.”

“Good thing it's wizard space... but I'd rather us not have a fire. Beside the point, it wouldn't destroy the Horcrux. They're near-indestructible.”

“That snake wasn' all that indestructible,” Brady muttered, as they began searching.

“She was a special case. Just be careful. And worse comes to worse, we can get help. Ryan and Aaron can join us in a bit.”

A half hour later, there was still no luck. However, more welcome news arrived in the form of Bill's Patronus. “ _Located Hufflepuff's Cup in the Lestrange vault. The goblins have seen to its destruction, I'll bring the remains back to the sanctuary,_ ” came the message. 

Rasalas only grinned madly. “Take that you crazy bitch,” he muttered.

He made to turn left, only to bump into an unstable pile of chairs that teetered a moment, before collapsing with a noisy clatter. That bumped into a larger stack of clutter that also teetered dangerously a moment, before falling still.

“Rasalas?!” came Brady's call.

“It's fine... just not paying attention.”

“Hey check this out!”

Brady suddenly popped up above the towers of debris on an old broom.

“Brady! Careful, it could be hexed!”

Brady only shrugged. “Feels all right to me. Tell 'ya what... I'll stick to the air... might get it done quicker.”

“Just... be careful.”

As he continued to search, Rasalas realized they most definitely needed to return to the room in the future. Some of the things hidden away were truly fascinating. Some things were rather macabre... good grief, the number of skeletal remains were unnerving. He'd spotted at least a half-dozen golden snitches flitting about, with varying strength. Some of them barely had enough magic to stay aloft—meaning they'd been there for centuries, perhaps.

He'd been drawn to a gramophone which was playing an odd little ditty, and only his strong Occlumency shields had kept him away. He vanished the instrument, realizing it had some sort of compulsion charm on it, and the last time he'd experienced something like that... hadn't ended well. A repeat incident might end up far worse, considering their access to Avalon was currently blocked.

There was a single broom overhead, flying on its own. Wanting to dispatch the distraction, he'd tried to summon it, only for it to zoom about erratically. Mindful of Brady, working the other side of the room, he only shouted a warning, and left the jinxed broom alone from that point on. It seemed to have a mind of its own which didn't like being provoked.

The amount of broken, scorched, defaced furniture was mind-boggling. Desks which had vulgar language carved into its surface by some bored student... others with scorch marks or downright holes burned into them, likely from errant spells... it was like an unplanned time capsule chronicling the darker side of a magical school.

Rasalas had to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand. A diadem, a tiara of all things... the proverbial 'needle in a haystack'. It was there, in that room... buried under—wait.

He came to an abrupt stop in front of a rather ugly bust of an unknown wizard. Resting on the head, was a tarnished tiara, and he winced, hearing the thing whispering in Parseltongue. He knew better than to just try and pick it up. Who only knew what kind of defensive protections were present?

Instead, he summoned a nearby blanket, and draped it over the cursed item. With the heavy fabric between his hand and the diadem, he could then pick it up. Now—

Unfortunately, summoning the blanket caused a pile of clutter to topple over with a noisy crash. That, in turn, caused a larger tower of stacked desks to teeter a moment, before going over in slow-motion, with a much louder crash.

“Ras?!!” came Brady's shout, at about the same time there came a deafening blast from the collapsed pile of debris and clutter, and a tower of flames seemed to erupt. It might as well have been a pool of petrol.

The fire rapidly spread to a rickety shelf containing several cauldrons and vials—a train wreck in the making, best way to put it. Rasalas began to back up, wanting to put distance between the mess, hastily erecting a strong shield before— _BOOOOM_ .

The explosion sent flaming wreckage in all directions, and now Rasalas bolted, seeing the flames from the explosion morphing into terrible shapes—dragons, flaming serpents, angry beasts who were devouring the abundant supply of fuel provided by the room.

“BRADY!!” Rasalas bellowed, 'Thank the Goddess he's on a broom.'

“What the hell did 'ya do?!”

“I didn't do it on purpose!” Rasalas shouted, frustrated. Brady lowered the broom and offered a hand. Rasalas grabbed it, and was hauled aboard.

“Fire looks alive.”

“It is. _Fiendfyre_. Now let's get the hell out of here!”

Brady didn't need any further prompting, but aimed the broom for the door. The heat was becoming unbearable, forcing Rasalas to cast strong cooling charms on them... the fire was nearly licking at their feet, as they shot for the door. Getting close, Rasalas slashed his hand at the doors, blowing them open.

“Shit!!” Brady exclaimed, and Rasalas was forced to grab on with both hands, dropping the diadem, as Brady rolled the broom and veered to the right, avoiding a piece of falling debris, to then blast through the open doors. The broom fell to the floor, dumping both Brady and Rasalas, sending them sprawling into each other.

Taking only a second to sort himself out, Rasalas flung the strongest barrier he could manage at the gaping doorway in an effort to prevent the fire from leaving the magical room.

“Brady! Barrier, strongest you got!”

“Got it.”

Brady quickly added his own barrier spell, nearly doubling the strength. Rasalas mentally crossed his fingers it would be enough...  _Fiendfyre_ was a truly terrifying sort of magic. The fire flashed against the barrier—

_BOOOOOM_ . The floor literally shook from the force of the explosion, and Rasalas winced, feeling the wards scream with alarm. No shit, a massive explosion had just rocked the school.

“Ras?”

“I'm all right... bloody hell,” Rasalas muttered. “You?”

“Fine. 'm fine.”

It was then Rasalas heard a terrible shriek from inside the room.

“The snake... did the same thing,” said Brady.

“I... oh. That... that's good then. We... we got it. It's destroyed.”

Rasalas found himself pulled up against the wall of the corridor, beneath the painting of the wizard and the trolls.

“Jesus Christ, son... you're just a magnet for trouble.”

Rasalas couldn't help but grin.

There came a barely-audible pop, and Dumbledore suddenly appeared, looking grave.

“Harry? What happened?” he asked.

“Horcrux, headmaster,” Rasalas answered, simply, “ _Fiendfyre_... accident, it's all good.”

The headmaster glanced at the strong barrier holding the fire inside the room, and for a second, Rasalas thought the headmaster looked... disappointed? What for?

“Though I do admire your effort, I do frown on the method by which this has been done. You risk damage to the castle.”

“Long as our barriers hold up, the fire won't get any further. The fire is contained in wizard-space. Correct me if I'm wrong, Professor.”

“Yes, this is true,” Dumbledore conceded, “And yet I do urge you to exercise caution.”

He thought for a moment, glanced around, and put up a privacy barrier so their conversation wouldn't be overheard.

“How many Horcruxes have you located?”

“All of them,” Rasalas answered, “Two of them have been destroyed today, ironically both by accident.”

“Well done. Now you must consider how you will face Tom Riddle himself.”

“I know. This point, I'm still unsure. Though... Professor, it's likely he knows we've gone after his toys.”

“What reason do you have for believing that is the case?”

“I took Nagini from him early this morning. In fact it's what spurred this... treasure hunt,” Rasalas answered. “Other than the unexpected conflagration, it's been productive.”

“I warned 'ya, the place was a fuckin' fire trap, Ras.”

Dumbledore frowned at Brady's language. “Do the pair of you need to see Madam Pomfrey?”

“No. Just a little rattled from the experience,” answered Rasalas. He glanced at Brady. “Help me up.”

They leaned on each other to regain their feet. Only then did Rasalas check the barrier the pair of them had erected.

“I'm positive the fire won't escape the room,” he declared, confidently. “ _Fiendfyre_ might be a powerful type of magic, but earth magic is just a little stronger.”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore seemed to think a moment. “Would you consider perhaps putting on a demonstration for your former classmates? I'm sure Professor Snape would be happy to permit a guest lecture.”

“Uh... I'll have to think about it, professor. If I have some free time, then... it couldn't hurt. Though really, I might sit in on the defence club Ron and Hermione have set up— _AAAAAH!_ ”

“Ras?”

“It...”

_He found himself swimming in a storm of emotions. Voldemort was in a towering rage._

“ _How was this permitted to happen!?” Voldemort stormed._

_The room was no place Rasalas could immediately recognize, but a number of followers were gathered, all kneeling. A half-dozen goblins lay dead off to the side, as were several Death Eaters._

“ _I'm s-s-sorry, my lord... there was no warning,” a goblin apologized._

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!”_

_The goblin dropped dead at Voldemort's feet. 'The boy knows,' he raged in his head, 'somehow, the boy knows. Need to check the others. Cup is gone. Nagini is gone. The diary is gone. What first? Ring, Diadem, or Locket? The ring... most vulnerable. The manor then, after which I will check the cave. This must be done alone.'_

Rasalas forced himself back to consciousness.

“He's checking on his Horcruxes. Going to check on the ring first.”

“'an he'll come to the school, Ras. What if he does?”

Rasalas gave a nasty smirk. “Then I'll kick his ass, Brady. Simple as that. Professor, will you join us, should it come to that?”

“Of course, my boy. Harry—Rasalas, I am proud of you, even though you may not believe it,” said Dumbledore.

Rasalas could tell it pained him to say it. He simply nodded and smiled. “Thank you, professor.”

He glanced at the doorway into the Room of Requirement. The fire was at last running out of fuel, the glow becoming less and less intense.

“How long will your barrier last?” questioned Dumbledore.

“As long as I need it to. Indefinitely. I'll remove it tomorrow morning,” said Rasalas, “and if I understand correctly, the room will function as required... though I'm thinking it may need to be cleaned.”

“What might I ask, was in there?”

Rasalas smirked. “Come on, professor. I'm sure you likely hid something you didn't want a teacher to see during your years here as a student.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “On more than one occasion, yes.”

“A thousand years' worth of junk. Lots of stuff to burn. All I did was bump into a pile of rubbish, next thing I knew it exploded into a fireball. Though the _Fiendfyre_ really caught me off guard,” said Rasalas. “It was a good thing Brady was on a broom, or... getting out would've been a bit difficult. Uh... I need to get back to the guest suite. Need to tell the others what's going on. We... keep an eye on the wards. Voldemort might come to the school.”

* * *

Voldemort literally screamed in rage, discovering the Gaunt ring had been removed from its hiding place at the hovel that had been his mother's home. The Gaunts had lived in the shadow of Riddle manor, their wealth and nobility squandered decades earlier. The boy knew. The boy was hunting his Horcruxes. How had he learned of them? Dumbledore? That man always seemed to have a knack for learning of things. Meddling old man...

What did he do now? That was the most important question. At least check on the others. The locket... it was sealed away in the cave, and the only witnesses... gone to grass, also many years prior. The Diadem, then. Still safely hidden at Hogwarts. The room of hidden things was most useful—

“Hello, Tom.”

Voldemort spun around, ready to cast his favourite curse, but he mentally screamed in rage. No, it would do no good against  _this_ pest.

“You know,” he said, simply.

“More than _know_ , Tom,” said Rasalas. “I have them all. The locket, recovered by Sirius' brother years ago, and to imagine, you had no clue. It's presently stored in a location you have no hope of ever reaching.”

He grinned, seeing the Dark Lord's face contort in rage.

“You lie.”

“May the Goddess strike me down if my words are in any way untrue. Trust me, she can do it. And since I'm still standing in front of you... where was I? Oh yes. The ring. Professor Dumbledore collected it back in the summer. I still need to ask him how he managed to destroy it.

“As you learned a little earlier, Gringotts was rather put out that your sycophant followers were storing something illegal within one of their vaults. Poor Belletrix, she won't be welcome in Gringotts ever again... nor will Rodolphus for that matter. They take those sorts of violations rather seriously, see.”

“Meddling boy...”

“What? Little old me? So, what's next? Oh, right. The diary, but you already knew about that one... destroyed by yours truly, a few years ago.”

“What have you done with Nagini?”

“She suffered an unfortunate accident this morning. My best friend took exception to me bringing her into the residence. Emptied an entire clip from a nine-millimetre Beretta into her.”

Voldemort looked even more furious, if that was possible. Rasalas only grinned madly.

“What? Upset we used non-magical tools to do the job? Hmm... wonder if a welding torch might open Slytherin's locket. Or maybe a plasma torch. See, both produce insanely hot flames.”

“When I get hold of you, boy, I promise...” Voldemort ground out. He was quite literally shaking with rage.

“Promise what? More pain and torture?” Rasalas laughed. “Get a grip, Tom. You really don't want to visit me. I promise you, you'll be leaving horizontal. So where was I? Oh yeah. Last, but not least, Ravenclaw's Diadem. There was an unfortunate fire in the room of hidden things. _Fiendfyre_ , rather frightening.”

Rasalas gestured at himself. He still looked a mess, covered in soot. He smirked, as he caught a brief look of fear cross the Dark Lord's face.

“So this is the way it is. You come near Hogwarts, I will paint the floor with your blood, and your worthless, sycophant followers will very quickly follow. You visit any of my friends, or such... I will visit you and make things VERY unpleasant—and you know I can do so. It's that simple. You do ANYTHING that causes grief or strife, in any way, shape, or form, I will visit you and you will find out EXACTLY why it is unwise to cross an agent of Avalon. This is your final warning.”

Rasalas faded out of view, and the Dark Lord stood there, momentarily shell-shocked. On at least three different occasions, he felt tremendous pressure on his normally formidable mental defences, with the third nearly succeeding in breaching them. If he had to admit... this was not Harry Potter he was facing. No, that boy was long gone, replaced by someone who... this was the man with the power to defeat him—the power of Avalon.

“I am Lord Voldemort!” he screamed to the wind, “This _boy_ is _nothing!!_ ”

A small part of him, though, was beginning to find it difficult to believe that. The boy was not...  _nothing_ . No, the man was  _dangerous_ . A very real threat to everything the Dark Lord was working toward. Worse still... the man had his Horcruxes, or the remainder of. Just one left, that he was likely working very hard trying to destroy.

* * *

Late that evening, as Rasalas was nearly asleep, he was momentarily startled, feeling someone climb into bed with him. Over two weeks—no, longer than that, since Brady had slept with him. Two weeks that Rasalas had slept alone. Two weeks of restless sleep, nightmares, visions, even with his strong Occlumency shields. So having Brady sleeping beside him again might be a good thing... though Rasalas also knew the guy could never replace Arthur.

Thing was, what if the door never worked again? Perhaps... their training was at an end. If he had to admit, the sessions back before Christmas had somewhat devolved into practice. Both he and Brady worked together most of the time, while Viviane and Morgaine worked with the others. And realistically, Rasalas was at a point that he could continue to teach the others.

'But I never got to say good bye,' he cried in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas and Brady demonstrate their skills at a Defence Association meeting; and Draco does something which forces Rasalas to conduct a bit of family business, to the objection of Dumbledore..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Anyone want to take a guess as to why Dumbledore might be disappointed with the destruction of everything in the Room of Requirement's Room of Hidden Things? A clue... remember, we're working sixth year here._
> 
> _(1) Going with the movie version of DH here._


	44. Family Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas and Brady demonstrate their skills at a Defence Association meeting; and Draco does something which forces Rasalas to conduct a bit of family business, to the objection of Dumbledore..._

**305\. FAMILY BUSINESS  
January / February, 2007**

> “ _Justice means minding one's own business and not meddling with other men's concerns.”_

  
_\- Plato_   


* * *

As the month passed, the others could tell Rasalas wasn't coping well with the separation from Arthur. On several occasions, he'd disappeared for several days, and even with immense pressure from the others, he wouldn't reveal where he'd gone. When he was present, meanwhile, he tended to say very little, becoming more and more withdrawn.

He finally gave up on swordsmanship lessons in the latter part of the month. In the last instance, Cai had nearly skewered him with his sword, and would have, if not for Accolon vanishing the blade a split second beforehand. “You must have your mind here and not elsewhere,” Cai had scolded him, “Continuing lessons in your present state is a fool's errand.”

Rasalas realized Cai was right. He could end up injuring himself, or someone else. Yet, as much as he tried to focus, most of his waking thoughts were consumed by a storm of emotions.

That said, a number of things still moved forward, even without Rasalas' input. Considering the additional of musical acts to the steam festival on Labour Day weekend, planning had to begin much earlier, and unlike the previous year, the Sawyers were home rather than off squirrelled away on a heavily-warded magical island. So, preparations could be given the attention needed, and more specifically, they were able to respond to queries from musicians in a more timely manner.

Tim Knight had already agreed to perform, saying the event was one of the highlights of his tour the previous year. Three additional acts from the previous summer had also agreed to return, and Brady was courting a few friends from back home to also make an appearance, the most well-known being Jason Allison—Jason had recorded two songs Brady had written, and both had turned out to be chart-topping hits.

Phil, meanwhile, was looking into expanding the carnival midway somewhat. He was in conversation with a number of dealers, as well as the ride enthusiast group out of Pickering. No sense in getting more rides if there weren't people who were able to run them. Rasalas had given permission for Phil to use as much room on his property as needed; it really wasn't an issue since he'd enjoyed the rides almost as much as the entertainment.

* * *

_January 28_

Finally, after several requests from Dumbledore and Rasalas' friends at the school, he relented, and agreed to attend a Defence Association meeting. The meetings always took place on Sunday afternoons, as to not interfere with the Quidditch season (although that was on hiatus until the spring).

Just after 2 pm, Rasalas and Brady stepped into the Room of Requirement. Rasalas was silently thankful that the terrible fire a few weeks prior had not left lasting damage. Apparently, the castle's house elves had spent several hours cleaning out the charred remains—mostly ashes, considering it had been  _Fiendfyre_ .

There were already a number of people present, including both Dumbledore and Snape. No surprise with Snape, really, considering he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor.

“Rasalas! Glad you could make it!” Ron greeted.

“Apologies it's taken this long. I'm... dealing with some matters that are a bit of a distraction. But... err... thank you for the invitation. Is... is this it, or are we waiting for others?”

“There's a few others coming.”

“Then we'll wait a bit longer. I'd rather not start and then have to repeat myself.”

It was then a number of students entered the room. The Slytherin contingent, Rasalas realized. They all gave him a nod, before joining the gathering.

“Uh... that's everyone, Har—Rasalas,” said Ron.

“Great. So first off... well done, for coming together, all of you. Seeing faces from all the houses here, it's good to see—school unity is important, given the dark times the wizarding world is falling into. I would have liked to have seen more of this when I was still a student here... but that's neither here nor there.

“Your club leaders, and Professor Dumbledore have invited us here to put on a little demonstration of what Avalon magic truly looks like. And before I get a storm of questions, understand that it was very difficult to access such training, and that not everyone is worthy of it.”

“Who decides who's worthy or not?” questioned one of the Slytherins.

“The Goddess herself,” said Rasalas. “Each of you attending this group, being a part of this group... you each have your own reasons for doing so. The Goddess knows those reasons. She knows what is truly in your heart. Do you desire to use your gifts and lessons justly, or for pain, misery, tyranny? Would you make the world a better place, or plunge it into darkness?

“That's one of the questions my trainers posed to me back in the spring. So how would you answer? As...” Rasalas stopped a moment, getting a flash-memory yet again. “As Voldemort once said to me a number of years ago, 'there is only power, and those too weak to seek it'. That from someone who at the time was latched onto the back of a possessed teacher's head.

“The real answer? It's all about choice. What you do with the gifts you have, that make you the person you are. Perhaps, with the power to back it up... but it always comes down to choice. Do what's right, or do what's easy? It's choice.”

Rasalas glanced over at Dumbledore, and noted him nodding along, his eyes twinkling madly. Snape, meanwhile, looked unreadable... nothing new there, if the number of pensieve memories were anything to go by.

“Training in Avalon magic requires a strong, well-organized mind, at a minimum. Having grounding in Occlumency should almost be a requirement, but most of the others in training alongside don't yet know that skill—though it is ongoing.”

Rasalas gestured at the floor, conjuring a hydrangea bush, and enlarged it until it was chest-height.

“So it's all wandless then?” questioned a girl from Ravenclaw.

“All of it, yeah,” said Brady.

“Those of you who don't know... this is Brady Gibson, a very close friend. He's here because he's pretty much at the same place I am as far as our training goes. The others, they're a bit behind.

“Not having a magical core does make things difficult—”

“Muggles can't learn magic!” another Slytherin protested. That earned vigorous nods from most of the others.

Brady flung a hand at the guy who had spoke out, and the student had to jump aside to avoid the jet of water that then impacted the opposite wall of the room.

“Y'all know, 'Muggle' makes us sound stupid right?”

“Because it's true!” the Slytherin persisted, “Witches and wizards are superior to you.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“'an 'because' ain't an answer.”

“Who are you again?” Rasalas asked.

“Theo Nott,” the Slytherin answered.

“So, Mr. Nott, answer his question.”

“We have magic, he doesn't!”

“an' how many wizards made it into space?”

That was met with looks of confusion and denial.

“Don't bet him, you'll all lose very badly,” said Rasalas, “thing is, that sort of mentality, superiority, gets us nowhere. You'd all be very surprised to find out what non-magical people have accomplished. And most definitely, they're not as stupid as you all might think.

And on the space thing... there are three people orbiting the earth right now on board the international space station.”

“Why?” questioned yet another student.

Brady answered, “Better question, why not?”

“Better still, _can we?_ What are we capable of?” Rasalas picked up, “Our non-magical counterparts continuously ask that question. They continue to change, to evolve, to grow. So don't call Muggles—non-magicals, stupid. That's a choice that will bring a rather quick end to our lesson here, and we won't come back.”

“Yeah, and if you piss him off, you're out of here,” Ron promised, “We've been bugging him for weeks and none of you lot will spoil it for everyone else!”

“Right. So on to the demonstration then. We will limit things somewhat, but it should give you all an idea what we can do. Again, bear in mind, Brady has no magical core, but as you will see, he's able to do just about everything I can—it is a completely level playing field.”

“The rules?” Dumbledore queried.

“When one of us is trapped,” Brady answered.

“Trapped or unable to fight,” Rasalas clarified. “I'll ask everyone to gather at the doorway, so I can make some changes.”

The club did as ask, after which, Rasalas projected his requirement to the room, namely an enlargement. Additionally, he threw up strong wards so onlookers wouldn't be injured—preparations that had been practised on more than a few occasions back in the sanctuary.

The pair then stood facing one another.

“If someone will—”

“Begin,” said Neville.

Both Rasalas and Brady instantly vanished.

“Crap, forgot he can do that,” came Rasalas' voice, from the other side of the room, before Brady suddenly became visible directly opposite, flat out on his arse. He flicked a hand at the source of the voice, that resulted in muttered cursing, and Rasalas became visible.

“Guys, a favour!” said Ron, “Stay visible for us.”

“Yeah, it's not fair if you're doing stuff and we can't see it,” Neville agreed.

“Err... sorry,” Rasalas apologized.

Now, things really got under way, with the pair flinging a myriad of spells at each other, to say the least. Most of it, however, consisted of conjured items—some of them were amusing in nature, while others—would have been rather painful should they have connected. Most of the conjurations were ropes, belts, wire, or chains, all with the purpose of entrapping the opponent.

Dumbledore watched with rapt fascination as the former student and his closest friend unleashed magic so effortlessly. All of it was wandless, and for Brady, it was all without an internal magical core. It was both amazing, and terrifying. Here, a Muggle was wielding magic. A feat that had been up to this point impossible, according to all of the greatest magical minds.

Of course, the young man had been schooled by some of the most magical people to walk the earth in a very long time, and quite likely, schooled at Avalon itself. In that place, it was a mystery as to just what was possible. Giving magical ability to a Muggle was likely a flash in the pan, in the grand scale of things.

In raw power, Brady seemed to nearly match Harry. Clearly, the pair worked closely together, as it was like watching a carefully-choreographed ballet, rather than a duel. Each knew the others' approach, the others' tactics. Each knew how to avoid the other, how to press the other. At times, it was difficult to see who was the student versus the teacher.

It was a half-hour before Rasalas finally got his opportunity, tagging Brady with a tickling jinx, and with the distraction, then bound him in tight cords. However, as the club began to applaud, Brady was suddenly free, and Rasalas was forced to duck a barrage of half-inch ball bearings being launched like bullets.

“So an example!” Rasalas called out, as the duel continued, “Never count your opponent out! Bound does not mean neutralized! The Aurors defending the ministry at the beginning of the month...” he dodged another storm of debris, this time picket fence parts of all things, “...were using piss-poor spells a fourth year student could escape from! In a life-or-death fight, you make sure your opponent is not getting up from it. Or else, what happens?!”

“You could die,” Ginny answered.

“Exactly. What was my mistake here?”

“You should have stunned him,” said a Ravenclaw student.

“'an have his buddies come along 'an wake 'im up again,” Brady retorted, forcing Rasalas to again duck, this time from a blast of frost that coated part of the floor with ice.

“In a real fight... I will use magic that the other side cannot undo. All of you here... if you're in a fight and you take your opponent down... take his wand at a minimum. Ensure that, even if they are revived, they still won't be a lot of use in the fight.”

Now Brady was forced to dodge, as the floor under his feet suddenly became electrified. A swipe of a hand banished the nuisance, while the other sent a torrent of water at his opponent. Rasalas attempted to dodge, but found the surge of water had a mind of its own, almost gel-like...

“Fucker,” he muttered, feeling the liquid effectively mummify him from the neck down. He teetered a moment, before falling over on his side. Insult to injury, Brady then conjured up a gag and covered his mouth with it.

Now the club broke into raucous applause, with the duel clearly over. Brady quickly banished the gag and the liquid binding, then helped his soggy friend to his feet.

“Merlin's pants...” Rasalas muttered, before gesturing to himself and spelling himself dry.

“Who wins more often?” Ron wanted to know.

“Pretty even,” Brady answered as he replaced his cap, “Ras almost had me there a few times.”

“Likewise, Brady could've taken me on several occasions. It's all about working the environment, taking advantage of your surroundings. In our case, turning potential threats into defences, or turning your opponents' defences into threats.”

“Or gettin' rid of shit before it gets in your face,” Brady picked up, “Bein' creative don' hurt none either.”

“And you're able to cast the spells you've learned here at Hogwarts?” Snape asked. Though the mask was still firmly in place, Rasalas could detect perhaps a bit of curiosity.

“All of it, sir.” Rasalas gestured with a hand, producing his Patronus. “This was perhaps the most challenging to learn, given the emotional requirement.”

“What is that?” questioned a third-year Slytherin.

“A Patronus charm,” Rasalas answered, “It's a N.E.W.T. Level spell, though I learned it much sooner.”

“What's it for?”

“Its primary use is to defend against Dementors. However they are also rumoured to work against Lithfolds—though during my limited research into the spell, I couldn't come across a substantiated example... err... correct me if I'm wrong, professors.”

He gestured with a hand again, dispelling the charm.

“You can maintain it without needing to focus on it?” Dumbledore questioned.

“Yeah. Once it's instantiated, it persists without further input, until I dismiss it. Rather useful if I'm facing an enemy that brings along a Dementor or three. It's another demonstration of where Avalon magic does function significantly different than our in-born magical ability.”

“Do you rely on your internal magic at all?” questioned a fourth-year Hufflepuff.

“Very rarely, but on occasion. By this point it's just second nature for me to tap into the deeper well of energy around me, than to turn my focus inward—if that makes any sense. Thing is, there are a number of spells that can never be cast using this type of magic. Anyone want to take a stab at what they might be?”

“Unforgivables?” questioned Neville.

“Close. Anyone else?”

“The dark arts,” said Theo, with a sneer.

“Again, close, but not exactly what I'm looking for. Both examples have something in common. Think of my comments before we began the duel.”

“Harmful intent, of course,” answered Luna, “The Goddess would never permit such awful spell work to be powered by the earth's own energy; such a thing would be an abomination.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw, miss Lovegood, for that spot-on answer. I can award points, right? Guest lecturer and all? So five points to both Gryffindor and Slytherin, for the close answers.

“I don't know who created the three unforgivable curses, or when they were created, but such things... such spells are true magical abominations—crimes against nature. Casting them does terrible things to both the caster and the victim. They are most definitely a creation of the wizarding world, and something that... really, someone versed in Avalon magic would know better than to try and use them.

“The same goes for a great many spells, for that matter. To unjustly cause harm to someone, or to cause harm to someone without a good reason, that's in violation of the spirit of the Goddess. Put it as a practical example, if my instructors were to learn of me using what I've learned thus far in a harmful way, that would be the end of my lessons.”

“So you can't kill someone?” questioned a third-year Slytherin.

“Not without a damned good reason. Injuring someone, or taking their life, it's a very serious thing. The act is in itself a violation, an upsetting of the balance. Naturally, it can be justified, if the act is to counteract the actions of the target. The target has committed murders himself, say. He's committed terrible acts, terrorizing an entire community. At what point do we take action to protect ourselves?”

“The Aurors are trained to deal with such a situation, Rasalas,” said Dumbledore.

“Supposedly. But where were the Aurors, when my parents needed protection? Where were the Aurors, when Neville's parents needed protection? See, here and now, we are in a situation where the Aurors are spread too thin, with far too little training.

“Back to my point. Sometimes, we have to act, to protect ourselves, our families, our friends, our neighbours. That's not murder in the eyes of the Goddess. That's offsetting an imbalance presented by the aggressor—the target.

“Now. Once again, I'm stressing this... that I by no means condone killing. It should always be the last option. Thing is, sometimes, there's no choice.”

“There is always a choice, Rasalas,” said Dumbledore, sadly, “Everyone can be redeemed.”

“No, they can't,” Brady objected, “Some people are monsters, 'an nothin' more. 'ya put 'em down for good.”

“Or they show up again a week, two weeks, a month later. Let's see... Lucius Malfoy, was arrested at the ministry during the mess in June... to then be seen at the ministry _AGAIN_ earlier in the month, once again working for Voldemort. Still think he can be redeemed, Professor?”

Dumbledore said nothing, so Rasalas continued, “We have just over an hour left. I'd love to see what you guys are working on.”

“Odd you should mention it earlier, Rasalas,” said Ron, “Hermione's been wanting to start teaching the Patronus charm.”

“Really? Well then. Let's get started...”

It was a half hour before dinner, when they finally called it a day. Rasalas and Brady had wandered around the room, with Rasalas working one-on-one with people for a few minutes at a time. It was one of the lessons he remembered vividly from third-year.

Only a few people in the club were able to produce anything with the charm, mostly a wisp of a gassy substance from the end of their wands. Still, Rasalas was impressed with the effort. Quite likely by the end of the year, a number of them would be able to cast it successfully, if they kept working at it.

“So... uh, thank you for having us, it's been... a great afternoon, I think,” said Rasalas.

“Can you make it again next week?” Hermione asked.

Rasalas glanced at Brady, who gave a short nod. “All right, sure. I might see if others might join us too.”

As the room began to empty, both Dumbledore and Snape approached.

“How does your training go?” Dumbledore wanted to know.

“It doesn't. For now. We're on winter break,” Rasalas lied, “It's winter in Avalon just as it is here.”

“Ah. I see.” He seemed to think a moment. “It is good to see you in the castle again. You are quite welcome to join your former classmates for meals if you so desire.”

“Come join us, Harry!” said Ron. Both he and Hermione were waiting off to the side.

“Uh...”

“Sure,” said Brady, “C'mon, we ain't been out of the sanctuary much.”

“All right.”

Rasalas flicked a hand at the floor, producing his Patronus. “Ryan. Spending dinner in the castle. Might be some time.” then, “To Ryan and Aaron.”

The ghostly stag bounded off through the door.

“Are you also working on a Patronus, Mr. Gibson?” Dumbledore asked.

“Workin' on it.”

“It's all about practice. And if these guys are working on it, we'll definitely attend.”

“We could have additional meetings during the week,” Hermione thought out loud.

“No more than one,” said Rasalas, “I think people have other things to do rather than sit through additional Defence lessons during the week. If it starts to feel like just another class, people won't want to be here.”

“I think you might make a fine professor one day, Rasalas,” Dumbledore observed.

Rasalas shrugged. “Maybe. This point, really not sure what I plan to do. I have a job to do first—though that's nearly done. After? Like I said, I don't know.”

“There will always be a place for you at Hogwarts, Rasalas. Now, I daresay, I am needed elsewhere.”

Rasalas forced his face to remain neutral, as the castle gave him a visual of the situation. Devil's snare in the second floor boys' toilet... yeah, that was a bit of a problem. Professor Sprout was already on the way, but the headmaster did need to be on hand...

“I'll see you at dinner, sir.”

With that, Dumbledore popped away, leaving only Snape. The surly professor only gave a curt nod, before he swept from the room, robes billowing behind him.

“Overgrown bat,” Ron muttered.

“Guy's got an attitude problem,” said Brady. That had both Ron and Hermione nodding vigorously.

“He hates Gryffindor,” said Ron, “I mean, he's taken points for being late, before the bell rings to start class... breathing too hard...”

“Being an insufferable know-it-all,” Hermione threw in, “Sitting through potions was a nightmare, and Defence Against the Dark Arts is about the same.”

“Don' people bitch about him?”

“All the time, but Dumbledore won't do anything,” said Ron.

“Something's off about Professor Snape as it is. I felt dark magic on him. I was about to ask him about it, but... this is something that has to be handled carefully. Right. Enough rubbish.”

“Come up to the common room for a bit,” Hermione invited them.

It was an evening well-spent. Brady was right in that they hadn't ventured far from the sanctuary lately. Getting out and spending time with his former classmates somewhat pulled Rasalas out of his funk, and really, the afternoon was both engaging and entertaining. Perhaps teaching might be a thought.

* * *

_February 2_

Contrary to a year prior, Brady's birthday was celebrated properly, even if the weather decided not to cooperate. Old man winter was relentless, slamming Southern Ontario with another major storm, the seventh major snow event so far. Very few days thus far passed without snow falling at one point.

That didn't matter all that much, considering the sanctuary was rather flexible—even if a pair of doors were currently not working. Not to mention, the connection with Hogwarts meant that, instead of skating on the artificially-created rink in Rasalas' back yard, they were able to clear off a section of the ice on Black Lake.

That, of course, resulted in a number of students joining them as the morning (afternoon) wore on. By the time lunch time (or dinner time in the case of Hogwarts) rolled around, there had to be about a hundred people present, and not all of them were students. Rasalas had to keep a closer eye on things, considering some people could be considered threats.

After lunch back in the sanctuary, the afternoon was then spent in Brady's preserve, riding around on brooms, or the all-terrain-vehicles he'd brought from his house back in Georgia. Rasalas found the ATVs to be an absolute riot to ride; they had lots of power and went crazy fast—not all that surprising, considering Brady's lead foot.

Further entertainment was had—if it could be called that, when Brady tried to teach Rasalas how to do a 'doughnut' with the ATV—making it spin around in a circle. Rasalas was unsure of whether to be amused or frightened, and in the end only managed to nearly flip the machine over on top of him.

In the end, the day was busy, exhausting, but well-spent, if Rasalas thought about it, as he got ready for bed. It had been entertaining, seeing Marcus try out the ATV. The young wizard had had fun in spite of himself. Rasalas was still on the fence about teaching him Avalon magic, but a small part of him held out for the door reopening. Training in Avalon would be easier than trying to do it in the sanctuary.

No matter what, it was an issue he would have to address. Everything was stagnant, save for the upcoming DA meeting again Sunday. At least, now, he had something to look forward to. Marcus was pushing him to begin taking action against wayward family members but... something just didn't feel right. There would be better timing.

He finally lay down, for now alone. Brady was spending some time with his brother and mother, and would likely be some time before he got to bed himself. His mother was really coming around as far as magic was concerned. She was adapting, rather than rejecting her son. Just as both Phil and Casey had done with Ryan. Betty loved her son unquestionably, as a parent was supposed to.

* * *

_February 11_

With the open invitation, Rasalas found himself spending a number of evenings visiting his friends in Gryffindor tower. Sometimes, Brady would tag along, while other times, Rasalas went alone. On this particular evening, he'd been a guest in their common room until an hour after curfew.

Now, as he returned to the guest suite, he wasn't paying all that much attention to who might be around. He'd bumped into a pair of prefects as he'd descended the stairs—Ravenclaws, though he couldn't remember their names. Outside of the boisterous dormitory, Rasalas was once again left to his own thoughts, consumed by the terrible prospect that he was never going to see Arthur again. His feet were pretty much on autopilot at this point, and perhaps, in hindsight, that had not been a great idea.

Kate had warned him to be careful when visiting the school. He most certainly had enemies, all of whom would most certainly take the opportunity if presented with it.

On this particular night, then, as Rasalas neared the doors leading into his guest suite, he had no chance to react, hearing the single word whispered from the shadows, “ _Crucio_ .”

As he lay writhing and thrashing on the floor, the assailant stepped out of the shadows.

“Not so tough now, are you, _Potter_ ,” Malfoy spat, as he maintained the curse. “My home, reduced to cinders, because of you. I spent a month locked away in Azkaban, because of you and your meddling!”

He released the curse for a moment, but Rasalas had no chance to react, as Malfoy once again cast the pain curse.

“They say you truly have to mean it, right? Trust me, Potter, I most certainly mean it. So how long will it take, before—“

He felt something sharp press against the back of his neck, as a voice whispered, “You will release him from that evil curse lest I part your head from your shoulders.”

Malfoy nearly dropped the wand, but ended the curse.

“That's a good lad.” Malfoy's world went dark.

“Rasalas? Can you hear me?”

“I... n—n'uh... h-help me up.”

Accolon helped his friend regain his feet.

“What shall we do with the one responsible?”

“Later. J-just g-g-get me inside.”

In the main room, Rasalas was helped onto one of the couches.

“Kreacher?”

The elf hurried in from the dining room.

“Yes, Master Rasalas?” he croaked out.

“I need a p-pain relieving p-potion, headache c-c-cure, and a muscle-relaxant p-potion right away.”

“As you wish.” Kreacher popped away.

“What happened?” questioned Cai, hearing the commotion.

“M-m-malfoy, got me with the C-c-cruciatus curse.”

Rasalas was still shaking violently, and it felt like every nerve was still in overload, even minutes after the incident.

“I... then we should ensure he cannot do this again,” said Cai, a dark look crossing his face.

“No, we'll l-let him be f-for now,” Rasalas managed, “Let him t-think he got away w-with it.”

Kreacher returned, bringing the requested potions. Rasalas quickly consumed each of them, and handed the empty vials back.

“Thank you, Kreacher.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No. Off you go.”

“Of course.” Kreacher bowed low, then returned to the kitchen.

“What happened?” Brady had heard the commotion from the room he'd set up as a studio. He held his guitar in his right hand, but narrowed his eyes, seeing Rasalas' condition.

“Malfoy ambushed me as I was coming back to the guest suite. Uh... Accolon, I'm in your debt.”

“No, you are not, young wizard,” Accolon answered, “I protect the King's consort as I would protect the King himself. Young Malfoy meant grave injury, perhaps even death.”

“Yeah... no doubt.”

Brady sat down on the couch beside Rasalas. Touching the guitar to the floor caused its cradle to instantly appear and support it.

“Y'all right?”

“Will be.”

“I again insist he be taken into custody and forced to answer for doing such things,” Cai pressed.

“Trust me, he will answer for this. Tomorrow morning, first thing. I want all of you to join me when we visit the school during their lunch time. And there, you will see justice be served,” said Rasalas, frigidly, “Malfoy has... as an old American expression goes... _bought the farm_.”

“I'll shoot his ass,” Brady promised.

“No, it won't be necessary. Though once I'm done with him, he'll probably wish for it.”

He gestured with a hand, summoning a bottle of firewhiskey and some glasses from the cabinet in the corner.

“Bought the farm? I don't follow,” said Accolon, as Rasalas filled some glasses.

“As far as I know, it was coined back during the second world war. It referred to pilot training... when they crashed and did damage in rural areas... farms and so on... the government paid out compensation to property owners. So the expression goes, the pilot—“(1)

“Bought the farm,” Cai finished.

Brady gave an evil smirk. “Still gon' stomp 'is ass...”

Accolon furrowed his brows. “It seems rather cold, to make light of such misfortune.”

“Perhaps,” Rasalas agreed, “Don't shoot the messenger. Right. Drink, guys!”

* * *

Lunch in the great hall at Hogwarts the following day was suddenly interrupted, as Rasalas strode into the room, with Brady, Accolon, Cai, Ryan, and Aaron following. Rasalas donned the armour he'd been given for Christmas, while Cai and Accolon had wore theirs. Brady, Ryan, and Aaron, meanwhile, hadn't bothered to get dressed up.

“Mr. Black, what can we do for—“ Dumbledore began, sensing something potentially disastrous was about to happen.

“I, Sir Rasalas Antares Black, command Draco Lucius Malfoy, to stand and account for his crimes against the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black and its head.”

Though Draco attempted to hide, he found himself forced to his feet, while the room exploded into murmurs and whispers.

“Harry, this is not an appropriate place for such things,” Dumbledore began—and then found himself momentarily unable to speak, and frozen from the neck down.

“Lady Hogwarts, if you will please prevent further interference,” said Rasalas, calmly, and coldly, “This is a family matter.”

The floor momentarily shook, and the braziers that lined both sides of the hall flared up briefly. Now, everyone found themselves rooted to their seats and frozen from the neck down.

“Now that there can be no interference. Let us get on with the proceeding. Accolon of North Wales. What did you discover last night?”

“I found you and Mr. Malfoy outside of the entrance to our private suite here in the castle.”

“By Mr. Malfoy, you mean Draco Lucius Malfoy, the young man who stands over there.” Rasalas pointed a finger at Draco.

“Yes, it is he.”

“What was happening?”

“Mr. Malfoy held you under a curse which had you quite literally screaming out in pain. It sounded as though you were being flayed alive,” Accolon answered. Even now, he was clearly unsettled by what he'd seen the previous evening.

“What sort of curse do you believe Mr. Malfoy was using on me?”

“The Cruciatus curse. The colour of the magic being used, and your behaviour while under it, matches a memory you have shared with us that concerned your encounter... some time ago with the Dark Lord named Voldemort.”

The reaction was expected. He was actually quite impressed with most members of the D.A., as none of them showed any reaction at all. The rest, meanwhile... it was pathetic. He flicked his hand at the ceiling, causing a firework to pop overhead. The room again fell silent.

“Gods... and _this_ is the world I'm prophecized to _save_.”

He sucked in a breath, and blew it out.

“By right as _Pater Familias_ , I demand your answer, _Draco Lucius Malfoy_. Did you or did you not, last night, cast the Cruciatus curse on me?”

Draco tried with all his might to keep silent, but the ancient magic eventually won out.

“I did cast the Cruciatus curse on you last night.”

It was like the young man was morphing into a little boy in front of them. Always so careful, to attack from the shadows, only now, being undone by ancient magic all purebloods liked to crow about.

“Albus Dumbledore. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, you have just heard Draco Lucius Malfoy admit, before all these witnesses, that he has cast the Cruciatus curse, an unforgivable curse according to the law. I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

“Now Mr. Black, surely you cannot condemn the young man, he is yet only a minor,” Dumbledore protested.

Rasalas let out a sigh. “A predictable answer... Which then leaves justice to  _me_ .”

“Harry—”

Rasalas gave Dumbledore a look that could kill, then addressed him though he were speaking to an imbecile, drawing out his words slowly and clearly.

“My name is _Rasalas Antares Black_ , headmaster, and I am right now conducting _official_ family business. You will address me _properly_ , or be included in _further_ family business, none of which you will find _pleasant_.”

The angry magic surging around the young wizard was enough to make more than a few people pause. A gesture of his hand had Draco hauled in front of him.

He tried to be brave. “Wait 'till my father—“

“Oh, your father _will_ hear about it, I'm quite sure. Not that he will be able to do a whole lot about it.”

He gave Draco a smile that promised lots of pain.

“Tell me, Draco. Did you ever put any research into the sort of powers the head of the family actually possessed, what sort of rights he or she carries?”

“I did not.”

“Pity.”

Rasalas smirked, seeing the looks he was getting from a number of Slytherins. Many of them had obviously done their research.

“How many here know the rights the head of family posses? The castle will let you raise hands to answer.”

Immediately, about a third of those present raised hands.

“So, you know then, attacking the family's _Pater Familias_ is perhaps one of the worst things one can do.”

“Grounds for outcasting,” came Neville's voice.

“No, worse than that!” came a female voice from the Slytherin table, “Merlin, Black can take his magic!”

“Twenty-five points to Slytherin for that spot on answer, miss Greengrass.”

Now, Draco looked terrified, as a clump of emeralds fell into Slytherin's point meter. Rasalas was sure that, if he were able to, he would bolt from the room, tossing all decorum to the wind, in the attempt to save his skin.

“No! I... I didn't mean it, I was just kidding!” he tried, sounding more like an ickle firstie, than a sixth-year prefect.

“I was. Just. _Kidding_ ,” Rasalas drawled, doing a very good imitation of Snape (who was most certainly watching the proceeding from the staff table).

“Mr. Black, I must protest,” said Dumbledore. 'Was he actually _pleading_? Looks good on him,' Rasalas thought.

“Duly noted. See, thing is, had you upheld the law, Mr. Malfoy would have been dealt with by the ministry (not that I have a whole lot of faith in it these days), instead of by family magic. Since you've washed your hands of the matter, you no longer have any say in it. This is a Black family matter.”

“You're going dark, Mr. Black.”

“No. I'm only setting out an example. _Harry Potter_ let the lot of you walk all over him. You called him a hero one minute, a nutcase and a liar the next. You threw him away, rather than face up to the ugly truth. He's gone now. I have taken his place, and I tell you now. I don't play nice. So here. Let me show you _exactly_ what _Rasalas Antares Black_ is capable of.”

He gave Draco another cold smile.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy. By the witness of my peer, and before me and the witnesses that gather here, you have admitted to the casting of the Cruciatus curse on thyself, the _Pater Familias_ of the most ancient and noble house of Black—whose same blood courses within your body.

“Committing such an act demonstrates that you have no respect for the gift you were born with, that you would directly attack the family's head. Therefore;

“Draco Lucius Malfoy. I command that your gifts of magic be forever bound. You shall never wield magic again, be it through a wand or by other means. Find yourself with the abilities less than a squib, and be thankful I take nothing further.”

“You can't _do_ this!” Draco protested.

Brady, meanwhile, leaned over and whispered something in Rasalas' ear. Rasalas gave a nod, and flicked his hand at Draco, summoning the boy's wand. He then held it out in front of him, and snapped it clean in two. This caused the blond to burst into tears.

“One final thing, Draco. Should you participate in or orchestrate a further attack against the house of Black or its allies, you will forfeit your life. It won't be from my hand; the old magic will see to it.

“Headmaster, you might want to notify his parents and make arrangements for him to be picked up, since there is little use in him remaining at Hogwarts. In the future, you might be a little more inclined to attend to matters properly. Had you done so on this occasion, then perhaps, young Draco here might still possess his gifts.

“OH. One final bit of business, headmaster. We are not on friendly terms and haven't been for some time. You will address myself or my fellow knights here properly. Our titles are not honorary decorations, but decrees by merit. Sir Rasalas, Sir Brady, Sir Accolon, and Sir Cai from here on out. Ignore our titles and styles at your own peril.

“Good day, headmaster.”

The party hurriedly left the hall, leaving staff and students, along with one former wizard stunned to silence. In fact, no one moved for nearly a minute, before they realized the binding spell had dissipated.

As the noise level in the room began to rise, Dumbledore and Snape hurried to Draco's side, and Dumbledore immediately began casting a number of spells on him.

“Well?” Snape pressed.

“It is exactly as Sir Rasalas has decreed. Draco has been rendered less than a squib. Escort him to his dormitory. I will in the meantime make a fire call to Lucius, and have him attend the school.”

“Perhaps you might want to reconsider allowing... Sir Rasalas... to come and go as he pleases,” said Snape, bitterly, “He does have enemies, and with this action here this morning, he can count on plenty more.”

“I will have a word with him in the near future, but I cannot dissuade him from visiting us, Severus. We need him far more than he needs us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas continues to exercise family powers, resulting in more chaos, both in the English Wizengamot, and for Voldemort's followers..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So, no lengthy duel scene here. Just like the actual training, I do tend to limit such scenes, and only display the result, during a fight or the like. I find extensive training scenes to be monotonous, and it makes a story drag, at least in my opinion._  
>  The DA meeting somewhat took on a mind of its own, as Harry/Rasalas gets an opportunity to lecture the group, and also help with one of the lessons.
> 
> _Aww, poor Draco. People have been warned not to stomp on Harry/Rasalas' dick nerve. It's never going to end well. And I mean seriously, Brady wanted to shoot Draco... several times. Oh well... maybe next time, I'll let him play..._
> 
> (1) The actual origin of this phrase is not known for certain, but this one is a common one.


	45. Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas continues to exercise family powers, resulting in more chaos, both in the English Wizengamot, and for Voldemort's followers..._

**306\. DING DONG, THE WITCH IS DEAD  
February, 2007**

> “Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch!  
>  Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead.”

  
\- Munchkin characters, "The Wizard of Oz", 1939

The next few days saw Rasalas looking more alive and more energetic than he'd been in well over a month. A few hours following his action against Draco had been rather uncomfortable, with Voldemort being in a towering rage. However, if the Dark Lord was angry, Rasalas had to be doing  _something_ right, right?

If Rasalas really thought about it, he'd been having a string of rather good luck as of late, discounting Draco's ambush. He'd dealt Voldemort a significantly crippling blow, capturing all of his Horcruxes, and destroying all but one of them. Now, he had also cut the legs out from under one of his closest followers, and in doing so, demonstrated rather graphically, that they were not quite as invincible as previously thought. Far worse, he wasn't a forgiving man with a grandfatherly face, such as Dumbledore. No, Rasalas was moving forward with the intent of putting an end to the war and its nightmares for good.

* * *

_February 16_

Old man winter had once again blasted the area with a dumping of snow, and so it was full snow-clearing duties, getting the driveway, parking lot and walkways cleared for the open of business. By the time they were done, Rasalas wasn't the only one cursing about not being able to use magic. With the biting wind and blowing snow, warming charms only went so far.

As everyone was taking a break back in the sanctuary, warming themselves in front of the fireplace, it flared a brilliant emerald green, and Bill stepped out of them. He spelled the soot off of his robes.

“Rasalas... good... uh... you need to come with me back to Gringotts. We might have a problem.”

“What sort of problem?”

“There's someone in the bank, looking to claim the Peverell head ring. They're in a queue for a teller.”

Rasalas stood up.

“Go on. We'll finish up,” said Aaron.

“I'm comin,” said Brady, also standing.

“Right. Come on then,” said Rasalas, “I gather Griphook is waiting?”

“And the head goblin. They sent for you.”

“Let's go.”

Only minutes later, the three of them stood in a familiar conference room. Both Griphook and the head goblin were present, as were a pair of assistants.

“Sir Rasalas, Sir Brady, welcome,” said the head goblin. 

He indicated they take a seat. The three of them took up the offer, with both Brady and Rasalas quickly shedding their jackets.

“Mr. Weasley has explained the problem?” questioned Griphook.

“Yeah. And I can guess where that's coming from, given what I did to young Mr. Malfoy a few days ago.”

“Indeed. A rather clever tactic, neutralizing someone who has been a thorn in your side in the four years you were a student at Hogwarts, at least as far as we can gather,” said the head goblin, showing all of his pointy teeth.

“And I'm far from done. I have both my solicitor and Mr. Flint doing research into family lineage, determining who would fall under Pater Familias.”

“We might be able to help there,” said one of the assistants, “If it's documentation you require.”

“Do you mind passing that on through Bill? Though I'm not all that busy at the moment, it's likely going to change sometime in the future.”

“Are you okay with working as a go-between, Mr. Weasley?” questioned the head goblin.

“Perfectly acceptable, sir,” answered Bill.

“Thank you. That will most certainly move things along.”

“So how's he claim this ring or whatever?” Brady wanted to know.

“And we get to the point of the meeting. Sir Rasalas only need to speak the magic words,” said Griphook.

“Magic words... oh. Err... Right.”

Rasalas stood up, speaking, “I, Sir Rasalas Antares Black, nee Harry James Potter, wish to claim the title of Lord Peverell, by direct line of succession.”

A surge of energy shot up through him, from foot to head, then back. Both the head goblin and Griphook gave toothy grins.

“Very well, Sir Rasalas,” said the head goblin. He nodded to one of the assistants present. “Collect the Peverell portfolio, and the lordship ring.”

“At once.” The goblin hurried from the room.

The head goblin then frowned, seeing a message form on a page of parchment in front of him.

“It seems, Albert Yaxley is being led into his account manager's office just now.”

“Yaxley? He's a Black,” Rasalas remembered.

“Yes, but do remember, one has both a mother and a father,” said Griphook.

Rasalas gave a nod. “This is true.”

“Would he been able to claim it?” Brady wondered.

“The lordship? If the family magic judged him worthy, then yes,” answered the head goblin. “We couldn't take the chance that he might succeed. The Death Eaters and their leader are bad for business.”

“Understatement,” Rasalas muttered. “Err... thank you for the warning.”

Then, the assistant returned, bringing a thick folder stuffed with parchment, as well as a small box. He pushed both items onto the table, and guided them toward the opposite end, where everyone was gathered. The head goblin opened the box, and pushed it toward Rasalas.

“If you will place the ring on your finger.”

Rasalas reached into the small box, and pulled out the dark metal ring. It had a small yellow-shaded topaz gem as a setting. Just touching it, though, Rasalas could feel the intense magical field around it, far stronger than the other ring he already wore. This was ancient family magic, far older than the Blacks. He slid it on, to be nearly toppled by the surge of energy that raced through him.

“Congratulations, Lord Peverell,” said the head goblin.

“Thank you.”

“Something you should now consider, Sir Rasalas, is to now adopt Peverell as your surname,” Griphook suggested, “The Peverell line carries far more political clout, even if you presently do not desire to pursue a political agenda.”

Rasalas smirked. “Can't wait to see Dumbledore's face.”

* * *

The following morning, when Dumbledore entered his office from his private chamber, he found a sealed envelope waiting for him on his desk. He now remembered the seal, as he broke it, and pulled the ordinary paper contents from it. Just like the time previous, it was letterhead paper, with the firm of  _Lewis, Wells, Gill & Fletcher_ being stencilled at the top.

  
  


_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_This letter is to inform you that my client, Sir Rasalas Antares Peverell, has reassigned his Wizengamot proxy vote to Amelia Bones, affective immediately. A similar letter of intent has been dispatched, along with a copy of this letter._

_My client wishes for his sentiments and beliefs to be better-represented within the government body, and feels that leaving the Peverell proxy within your purview would be a mistake._

_Sincerely,_

_(a signature was scrawled here)_

_Kate Lewis, Solicitor_

_(another signature was scrawled here)_

_Sir Rasalas A. Peverell_

_c.c. Dilys Atterworth, clerk of the Wizengamot_

_c.c. Amelia Bones_

  
  


Dumbledore violently tore the paper in two, a look of fury crossing his face. How did he know?! Who told him?! Black, of course! Likely before he was killed. This was... catastrophic. Knowing he was descended from the Peverells... that meant he now had veto rights in the Wizengamot—or his proxy did. And considering Madam Bones' opinions on a number of questionable laws that had been pushed through the government body in recent memory... the boy could do a lot of damage to the balance of things.

Perhaps Harry wasn't aware of such authority. If not... perhaps things would be okay. Even so, it was a severe blow to his power base. Retaining the Peverell proxy had carried a lot of prestige, allowing Dumbledore to retain a strong influence in England, even though his international reputation had been damaged.

No matter what, Albus Dumbledore had not felt this powerless in decades.

* * *

He was to find out the following Tuesday, just what Rasalas truly knew. It came in the form of the Daily Prophet, the headline virtually screaming:

_ANTI-WEREWOLF LEGISLATION REPEALED_

_VIA PEVERELL PROXY VETO_

_In a move which has witches and wizards all over Britain in a state of shock this morning, the Peverell proxy exercised the family's rarely-used veto powers yesterday afternoon, to overturn the Anti-Werewolf act, brought in by former senior undersecretary to the minister, Delores Umbridge._

_The move comes only days after the family's head of house rights were claimed by Sir Rasalas Black, formerly Harry Potter. Requests for a statement from the young wizard himself have been declined, with inquiries being directed to his solicitor._

_Said solicitor did go on record when contacted, saying, “Our client is merely exercising rights given him by ancient statute, by ancient magic, to undo an injustice levelled against a small portion of the population, who are not at fault for the terrible infliction they suffer from. Compassion is what they require, not intolerance and fear.”_

_An official close to the minister of magic went on record saying, “The minister is saddened and troubled by this abuse of power, and the dangerous precedent this introduces. Long-standing traditions aimed at protecting the good magical citizens of Britain may very well be in danger, if this opening assault on the part of the [Peverell heir] is any indication._

“ _The minister and senior department heads will be meeting early tomorrow morning, to discuss this alarming development, with the hope of coming up with some sort of solution, and perhaps prevent further damage to our sacred laws and customs.”_

_Augusta Longbottom, meanwhile, went on record stating, “It's about time that piece of draconian legislation was binned; our world needs unity, not division, and the Anti-werewolf Act did exactly that. How many werewolves have turned to [you-know-who] as a result of that piece of legislation? A salute to young Lord Peverell, I can only hope you have plans of disposing of many other dreadful decisions... foisted on Britain's magical community in recent memory.”_

_Albert Yaxley, meanwhile, released a statement of his own, saying, “A very clever move on the part of the Lord Black, but let us call it what it is, nothing less than line-theft. I will be filing papers with both Gringotts and the Wizengamot within the next few days, forcing the new Peverell heir to produce proof of his lineage._

“ _Should the proof be insufficient, the government will have the power to revoke [Lord Peverell's] authority and send him to Azkaban, where he should have been sent in the first place over a year ago. Line-theft is, after all, a severe criminal offence.”_

_We at the Daily Prophet do support Mr. Yaxley's actions, as the actions of the new Lord Peverell do raise many concerns. To have laws enacted by our lawfully-established governing body, be so easily revoked, swept away, by just the stroke of a pen? That is power no one should have..._

  
  


Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose, as he tossed the paper on his desk. Bad? No, this was beyond bad. Peverell could bring down the government, sack the minister, order the Aurors around... and far more frightening... he clearly had the backbone to do it.

* * *

In the sanctuary, Rasalas was having a slightly different reaction to the article.

“Bill... d'you mind making a fire-call to Kate? Gonna need her advice on this.”

The others could see he was nearly foaming at the mouth from the inflammatory comments made by Yaxley alone. Bill quickly got up, and went out into the common room to use the grate.

“I'll see him ruined. Shovelling dragon shit 'till he drops dead, then fed to said dragon...”

“Yaxley's a Peverell by distant relation,” said Marcus.

“And so are a lot of people,” Rasalas fumed, “'an he can't get away with calling me a criminal. My conviction was overturned.”

“Can they really charge you with line-theft?” Accolon wanted to know.

“No. According to Griphook, the Peverell line will only fall to a direct descendant. The last one was my dad... and his dad, and so on.”

“The Potters through paternal lineage,” Cai guessed, to which Rasalas gave a nod.

“The Peverell line continued through the Potters directly. So, while Yaxley might have been able to claim the line, he really doesn't have the right to, since he's not the direct heir.”

Bill returned. “Kate's already left for court,” he said.

“Shit. All right... thing is, we need to deal with this threat. He can make things difficult.”

“Outcasting ritual,” said Marcus, “Invite him to Gringotts for a meeting. While there, you cast him out of the Peverell line. Yaxley's always been a bit of a hot head, and his reaction won't sit well with the goblins.”

Bill smirked. “I see where you're going. And considering the bank is considered Goblin territory... the goblins can do whatever they want with him without reprisals from the ministry.”

Rasalas also smirked. “Mr. Flint... care to come along and fan the flames a little more?”

“And see his shock at my presence? Count me in.”

“'an I'm comin',” Brady insisted.

“I'd be insulted if you didn't,” said Rasalas.

“What about us?” Aaron questioned.

“No. I think Yaxley might get suspicious, seeing a crowd of people waiting for him. As it stands, he'll likely be suspicious as it is, even with this number.”

“But what if...”

“He won't get the chance,” said Bill, “First indication he's going to pull something, the goblins will have him on the floor.”

“You'll s-s-s-share a pensieve memory, right?” questioned Ryan.

“Hold a moment,” said Marcus. “If we're going to Gringotts... you might think about seizing the vaults of several others. Lestrange, Yaxley, Malfoy, my parents... it's in your rights to do so.”

“You have a list ready?”

“It's short.”

“Then by all means. I've been moping about long enough. Time to join the fight from a different angle.”

* * *

Sometime later, Albert Yaxley strode confidently into Gringotts, the missive in his hand. 'So the boy wanted to “compromise”, did he? Finally saw sense in light of the insurmountable weight of the right bearing down on him? No matter, after this little meeting, the Dark Lord would reward him greatly,' Yaxley thought, 'finally usurp that crazed Bellatrix, perhaps.'

Striding up to an open teller, he sneered and tossed the letter on the counter, announcing, “I was summoned to a meeting.”

The goblin sneered right back, snatching up the parchment. He took his time reading it, even if it was just a few lines.

“I'm waiting...”

“And you can wait even longer, _wizard_ ,” the goblin snapped.

It was nearly a half-hour later before he was led into the conference room. There, he found three goblins present, as well as the supposed Peverell heir, a Weasley—didn't he work for the bank... and two others... including an up to now missing Marcus Flint. What in the devil—

“Mr. Yaxley, glad you could finally make it,” said Rasalas, indicating a seat, “The meeting time was fixed at ten-thirty.”

“You can blame the... teller... downstairs,” Yaxley fumed.

“Didn't you mean vermin? That's what you meant to say, wasn't it?” said Rasalas, lightly.

A flash of anger crossed the blond man's face, and the three goblins present grinned evilly.

“You would think that, considering the goblin nation is in control of the wizarding world's economy, witches and wizards would treat them with just a little more respect.

“Had you simply spoken politely, this meeting would have gotten under way on time, instead of wasting a half-hour.”

“The Dark Lord...”

“Has no influence here at Gringotts, Mr. Yaxley,” said one of the goblins, “We have taken steps to ensure this is true.”

“This is Griphook, my account manager, and the head goblin,” Rasalas introduced, “Also here as witnesses, Bill Weasley, Sir Brady Gibson, and Marcus Flint.”

“Ah, Flint... the Dark Lord has wondered where you might have disappeared to. Looking to... Peverell to save your skin? He can't protect you everywhere.”

“I work with Sir Rasalas to undo the damage Voldemort continues to do to our world,” Marcus answered, “I was wrong to follow his doctrine, as are you... as are my parents.”

“Such a shame. Your parents had such high hopes for you.”

“And look where they are... rotting in a ministry holding cell. My name is in ruins, because of their fanatical beliefs.”

“We's gettin' off track here,” said Brady.

Yaxley sneered at the man across the table. “Tell me, what sort of language is that? The Dark Lord is again proven right. Muggles... not even capable of properly formed words...”

Brady moved to reach into his pouch for something, but Rasalas put a hand on his arm, shaking his head.

“Tell 'ya what. Let's take this outside,” Brady hissed. “I guarantee 'ya, one of us won't be walkin' away from it.”

“Gentlemen!” Griphook snapped.

“Yes, let's get on with this,” said Rasalas, “I still have other business to attend to. So, Mr. Yaxley. You challenge my claim to the Peverell head. Your proof?”

“I need remind you, Mr. Yaxley, proof must consist of a direct linear blood link to the Peverell line,” said the head goblin, producing a large broadsheet.

Rasalas, meanwhile, produced one of his own. “My proof, a direct line through my father's side of the family, linking back to Ignotus Peverell. If you had any knowledge at all of how the Peverell headship worked, Mr. Yaxley, you would have known that, only a direct ancestor is illegible. An indirect link is unacceptable.

“My solicitor is already drawing up documents to be filed with the Wizengamot beginning litigation against the Daily Prophet for their inflammatory comments; I can have her also begin litigation against you as well... unless you wish to retract your challenge here and now.”

“I see,” said Yaxley.

He fell silent for a few moments, weighing his options. Merlin, the boy was prepared, he had to admit that much! The Dark Lord was going to be displeased, but... really. The bank was calling the shots here, that much was clear.

“Very well. I rescind my challenge,” Yaxley declared.

“Good. Now we can move on to the matter of compensation.”

“Compensation?!”

“Now that the matter of who rightfully controls the _Pater Familias_ of the Peverell family has been settled,” said Griphook, “The family head is now permitted to proceed with punitive action.”

“You have made things rather easy for us,” said Marcus, “Making the claim here as you have, you prove to us you bear Peverell blood.”

“Which then opens you up to family magic, just like poor Draco,” said Rasalas, with a smile that promised lots of pain. “You were involved in the nightmare at the ministry at the beginning of January, attacking not only the government, but my person.

“Such an attack against the family and its allies demonstrates you are unfit to wield the gifts you have been given—”

Yaxley shot up from his seat, producing his wand, and levelled it at Rasalas, the tip glowing with the charge of energy as it built up.

“Unlike the snivelling Malfoy scion, I will NOT submit to—”

Yaxley suddenly found two blades at his throat, and a hand reached out to pluck the wand out of his fingers.

“Pity,” said Rasalas, “You really have no clue about just how much trouble you now find yourself in, do you?”

“Drawing your wand with harmful intent... worst thing you could ever do, _wizard_ ,” Griphook sneered. “Sir Rasalas, proceed.”

“By my right as _Pater Familias_ , I hereby order that Albert Yaxley's magical gifts be henceforth and forever bound. He shall never wield magic again, be it through a wand or by other means.”

“Which saves us the trouble,” said the head goblin, “Albert Yaxley, you are placed under arrest. The contents of your vault are henceforth forfeit and awarded to Sir Rasalas as compensation for your crime committed here today. Take him away.”

The pair of guards who had appeared rather suddenly, gripped the tall wizard by the arms, and dragged him from the room. The entire time, he glared daggers at Rasalas.

“The Dark Lord will take you. All of you!” he promised.

When the doors slammed shut, Rasalas could only smirk. “Uh... that went a little better than planned, I think.”

“Still would've liked to stomp his ass,” Brady muttered.

“But this is better,” said Rasalas, “Yaxley won't see the light of day again, if I have it right.”

“You are entirely correct, Sir Rasalas,” said the head goblin, “Threatening us or our customers is the worst thing someone can do.”

“The assistance of Gringotts is welcomed and appreciated, though it wasn't my intention to bring that sort of rubbish into the bank.”

“No offence was taken,” said the head goblin, “Now with this out of the way, is there anything further we can help with?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Marcus, producing a page of parchment, “Sir Rasalas is taking action against those named on this list, as a start.”

“They are all of Peverell or Black blood, and I'm taking action as _Pater Familias_ , by seizing their vaults as a start.”

“I see. Very well.”

Griphook took the page of parchment, and glanced at it. He raised his eyebrows at the names. “Some of these fall outside of your purview, Sir Rasalas.”

“The old laws say he can take action against them for attacks against the family,” said Marcus.

“Your ministry might have a few things to say about it.”

“Documentation is being prepared by my solicitor which will be filed with the ministry. Realize, the names on that list are marked Death Eaters, just as Yaxley is. Seizing their vaults will disrupt Voldemort's plans financially.”

“And as you have already stated only a short time ago, the Dark Lord and his followers are bad for business,” Marcus added.

The head goblin thought for a few moments. “I will order the vaults of the individuals named on this list to be frozen for now, until we see official sanction.”

“I can agree with that,” said Rasalas, smirking, “It still means they won't have access to it. Pity the Malfoys have a number of rather expensive bills upcoming.”

“As do a few others on that list,” said Griphook, giving a toothy grin.

“And I know the bank doesn't allow extensions. Most unfortunate, given the rather extensive repairs required with regard to Malfoy Manor.”

“They did have to arrange for a mortgage,” said Marcus, “And it was rather interesting, that the fire-suppression ward failed such as it did.”

Rasalas only gave a nasty smirk. “Poor things. Perhaps they should have invested in better wards, rather than funnelling funds to a terrorist organization.”

* * *

_YAXLEY FACES GOBLIN JUSTICE;_

_DREW WAND ON CUSTOMER_

_Albert Yaxley, 47, was arrested by the goblin nation yesterday after an incident inside of Gringotts bank which involved another customer, the bank announced, in a statement released to the Daily Prophet yesterday afternoon._

_According to the statement, Mr. Yaxley was summoned to a meeting by the new Lord Peverell, in response to Yaxley's promise to take legal action with regard to the Lord Peverell's claim of the family head. The details of what truly transpired at the meeting, which then led Mr. Yaxley to produce his wand and threaten to attack the Lord Peverell and others—remain private, the bank sighting client confidentiality._

“ _A witch or wizard threatening or attacking another customer within the premises of Gringotts will never be tolerated for any reason. Mr. Yaxley's actions have violated a treaty signed between the goblin nation and your ministry of magic in 1457, which gives us absolute right to administer our own justice against such brazen actions. May this serve as an example that we are not to be trifled with, and...”_

_(see “RETRIBUTION AGAINST”, page 3)_

_PROMINENT FAMILIES FIND VAULTS FROZEN;_

_MALFOY ESTATE FACES FORECLOSURE_

_A number of prominent families in Britain found themselves without access to their vaults at Gringotts yesterday, and may face permanent seizure in retribution for supposed crimes committed against the Peverell family head._

_In a statement released to a number of publications yesterday afternoon, a spokeswizard for the head of Britain's oldest magical family said, “A number of attacks and injustices have been levied against [Lord Peverell], and with this action, he is making it clear that this sort of behaviour will have severe consequences. All of us must remember, the old laws have a long reach, far longer, far deeper than any sort of shield the guilty party might come up with._

“ _For those who continue to follow the deluded tripe that flows from the Dark Lord's mouth, you will eventually be called to answer for your actions that only continue to destabilize our world, and further put it at risk.”_

_The effect of this action was felt immediately as this morning, Gringotts began proceedings to seize the Malfoy estate, after the bi-weekly mortgage payment could not be collected. The state of affairs is only compounded, as the family's usual allies find themselves in similar situations, and therefore unable to provide temporary support._

_When asked to comment on the situation, the ministry has thus far declined to comment on record, other than to say, “We are evaluating our options at this time.” An unusual, rather abrupt response, considering..._

_(see “THE MINISTRY”, page 4)_

_(Contents of Yaxley vault awarded to remaining Weasley family, page 5)_

* * *

The ministry could not release an official statement, as the Wizengamot was called for an emergency session to deal with the situation. The list of affected families included the Flints, Malfoys, McNairs, the Rowles, the Rockwoods, and a few others that all either worked in the ministry, or were close supporters of it.

“Peverell must be stopped,” a wizard two rows up spoke out, as the meeting got started.

“His knee-jerk, rash reactions are threatening the very stability of our world!” another shouted. That had a fury of voices all speaking at once.

Dumbledore raised his wand, shooting a firework at the ceiling, and the room fell silent.

“Order,” he said, “One at a time.”

“The question I put to fellow members, what do you propose to do?” Augusta Longbottom quipped, “The Peverells go back to the founding of our modern ministry. The family's power does not come with restrictions, all of you should know that.”

“Be quiet, you old prude, no one asked for your opinion!” a wizard in the shadows of the upper part of the chamber drawled.

“It's about time a few restrictions are put in place!” a witch on the opposite side of the room shouted, “Look what he's done to the Malfoys! One of the pillars of our community, in financial ruin!”

That had most of the membership muttering amongst themselves for a few moments.

“A situation perhaps brought on by Malfoy himself,” said Madam Bones, “It is noted that the Malfoy patriarch does not show his face during these proceedings. I thought he would want to weigh in personally, seeing as he is being effected the most by Lord Peverell's actions.”

“Lucius did pass on his regrets,” said Fudge, “The crisis involving his estate does take precedent.”

“And quibbling about it isn't going to bring about a solution.”

“Your proposal, Lord Alderan?” questioned Fudge.

“We repeal the Retribution Act of 1358. This is the law Lord Peverell is working from. We make it retroactive to January first, and therefore make Peverell's actions a few days ago null and void.”

“And realize, that should we do so, all families will lose the power to seek financial retribution for crimes committed against them,” spoke another witch from high up in the chamber. “Just something to keep in mind.”

“When was the last time the law was used?” questioned Fudge.

“During the last war with Grindelwald,” said Dumbledore.

“Then it is a risk we will have to take,” spoke another wizard. “All of us must think carefully. We know Peverell nee Black nee Potter is not stable in the mind. Who only knows what he might concoct as a perceived slight against him?”

That had the entire room nodding along in agreement.

“We have a motion on the table, then,” said Fudge. “All those in favour of repealing the Retribution Act of 1358?”

It was nearly unanimous, with only a few hands not being raised. Both Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom were amongst the few.

“And those against?”

Amelia, Augusta, and about ten others raised their hands.

“Good, good then. The Retribution Act of...”

“Not so fast, Cornelius,” said Madam Bones, “As the Peverell proxy, I exercise the Peverell veto. The Retribution Act of 1358 remains in effect, and unchanged.”

The chamber exploded into a storm of outrage, and it was a good thing only a few people were able to cast magic, or the DMLE head would have been forced to shield against a fury of curses, she was sure of it. It took several tries on the part of Dumbledore, before order was restored in the chamber.

“Amelia,” he said, “I implore you to see reason...”

“NO, Albus, YOU need to see reason,” Madam Bones shot back, “Lord Peverell is moving to make the necessary changes in our world, changes I wholeheartedly support. His actions only move to cut off funding to a terrorist organization, and the families named in the action are now being investigated by my department, as it is clear to me, Lord Peverell had his reasons for taking action against them.

“And a word of warning, Cornelius, dismissing me or otherwise interfering with the objectivity of my department would be a tragic mistake. My department is looking for an excuse to open an investigation into your own dealings. Do not think you are immune to prosecution.”

Fudge visually shivered. 'Such an investigation would be a disaster! Just wrap up this train wreck of a session, and regroup, fool,' he shouted in his head.

“Err... session adjourned,” he said, hastily, looking flustered.

* * *

Rasalas was not surprised to find a school house elf tugging on his pant leg as he and Marcus were at work in the room Rasalas had set up as a library and conference room. A number of genealogy books and charts were spread out on the large table.

“Sir Rasalas, Professor Dumblydore sir is wanting to speak to you.”

“I... oh. Uh... where is he waiting?”

“In the guest suite, sir, he is.”

“Thank you.” he glanced at Marcus. “Coming?”

“No. I'll keep at it.”

Rasalas stood up. He left the room, and stuck his head in Brady's studio. “Dumbledore wants to speak to me. Coming?”

“That didn' take long,” said Brady, un-strapping his guitar and setting it in the cradle.

“Not really surprised,” said Rasalas, as they crossed into the common room. It was then into the parlour, and through the door leading into the guest suite at the school.

“Ah, s-sir Brady, and s-sir Rasalas. You received my message?” questioned Dumbledore.

“We did, or we wouldn't have come out, now would we?” said Rasalas. “So let me guess. The little meeting of the government misfits blew up rather spectacularly.”

That had Brady smirking.

“Now Lord Peverell...”

“Come on. I knew the outcome long before it got off the ground,” said Rasalas, “Thanks to Mr. Flint, I'm becoming quite familiar with what being a Peverell means. If the ministry doesn't want to do what's necessary, then 'I' will do it FOR them. It's quite simple.”

“Sir Rasalas... it's not that simple.”

Rasalas had to smirk, seeing the pained expression crossing the old man's face, as he was being forced to use Rasalas' proper title. Ah yes, the ancient magic was truly a wonderful thing.

“'an why ain't it?” questioned Brady, “They's terrorists... 'nough said. 'ya put 'em down.”

“They can still be redeemed—”

Brady shrugged. “Some of 'em, maybe. Flint's turned out to be one of 'em, yeah. 'an for every one, how many more keep on killin'?”

“Malfoy being the perfect example,” Rasalas picked up, “He was a Death Eater through and through during the first wizard war. He scurried right back to his master's side when he was resurrected a year and a half ago. He was seen at the ministry last June, then again back in January. How many Aurors was he responsible for killing, headmaster? A question I'll likely get answered should I catch up to him. I'll have him under the influence of Veritaserum, one way or another.”

“That's not up to you, Sir Rasalas...”

“Oh yes it is!” Rasalas shot back, “As Peverell's  _ Pater Familias _ , it most certainly IS up to me. I'll have reporters from every reputable wizarding publication in the world present, if necessary, while he spills his dirty secrets.

“And don't forget, headmaster, your family is also descended from the Peverells, if not directly. So consider this a very clear, very frank warning.  _ Don't fuck with me. _ You won't like the consequences.”

Dumbledore could feel the angry crackle of energy building up around him, being projected by the two wizards in the room with him. It was done so effortlessly, clearly without much thought being put into it, with very little concentration. It was unnerving to feel that sort of power... downright intimidating, something Dumbledore was not used to. Normally, it was he projecting such a powerful aura, rather than being on the receiving end of it.

“I believe I need to be elsewhere,” he said, calmly.

Rasalas only smirked. It was an excuse, and he saw right through it.

“Does the emergency need my assistance? We can likely make quick work of it. Student trapped in a broom closet? Peeves causing havoc?”

The headmaster said nothing, but hastily made his exit.

“Good Lord, think he was gon' piss himself.”

Rasalas let out a laugh. “That would've been Patronus-worthy, I think.”

* * *

Mid-afternoon, Rasalas found his activities interrupted again, this time thanks to the Dark Lord. The white-hot searing pain in his scar had him double over in pain. The man was volcanic with rage, hearing the result of the meeting of the Wizengamot. Oh this is too good to be true... Bellatrix was there.

“Y-all right?”

“Just... I'll be fine. Death Eater meeting. I'm going to drop in.”

“Careful, Ras,” said Brady. Rasalas had stepped away from the research, deciding to spend a bit of time with Brady instead, seeing he was working on new material.

Rasalas went back to his bedroom and lay down, quickly projecting his image to the location. The Malfoy residence. No surprise. It looked like they had for the most part restored the house, hence the new mortgage. As had been the case in the past, a number of wizards and witches were collected around a long table of dark wood, with Voldemort sitting at one end, nearest the fireplace.

“My Lord,” a wizard spoke up, “It might be a thought that those of us who still have access to our vaults remove the balance. Just about every one of us here is Peverell through distant relation.

“Given what he has already done to Draco, and what he likely did to Yaxley, it leave nothing to the imagination what his objective is. At current rate, he will cut short nearly all of the ancient and noble houses.”

“I have considered that,” Voldemort agreed, “A lack of funds will make future overtures to the ministry... difficult. Do convey a message to Alderan, that I was somewhat pleased with his effort, even if it did end in failure. However, he should know, a greater effort... is expected.”

“We are working on a solution to Bones,” said another wizard down the table, “With her clearly in p-p-p-p.... p-p-p-p...” The wizard snapped his mouth shut and then growled, “The BOY's pocket... a great many sacred laws and traditions could be repealed.”

Rasalas silently and invisibly moved to stand opposite the wizard speaking. A plot against Amelia Bones. Not if he could help it. Keeping an ear on the conversation, he easily entered the man's mind. Marius Avery, his name. It took little effort for him to find what he was looking for. Ah. Forcing house elves to do the dirty work? That can be countered. He easily withdrew.

“SO, my friends, how are you enjoying the little show I've been running lately?” he questioned, at last making his presence known.

Once again, a number of people wore pained expressions, remembering prior 'visits'.

“Say, Avery, what's my name?”

If looks could kill, Rasalas knew he would be dead many times over.

“Aww, you're no fun. Really loving this Avalon magic thing though. Still think you're the most powerful wizard alive, Tom? Considering I now have the goblins at my side, and the Wizengamot on its knees... it's a good thing I work for the light side, or wizarding England would be in a heap of trouble, now, wouldn't it?

“See, thing is, there are far too many people would would never allow me to walk the path all of you walk today. Never mind my own self. The second I believed I was a danger... I would take steps to ensure that never happened. I would rather die, than subject innocent people to the terrifying nightmares the lot of you have wrought.”

“What is the meaning of your visit today, P-p-p....”

“Nice try, Tom. See, ancient magic will see to it that you address me properly. As I said to the oh so great and powerful Hogwarts headmaster a week or so ago, we aren't on friendly terms anymore. You and your ilk, Tom, unlike Professor Dumbledore, have NEVER been on friendly terms. So it's 'Sir Rasalas', or 'Lord Peverell' from here on out. Not even 'boy' is appropriate, since I've never really  _ been _ a child. You've all sort of ensured that.”

“What do you want, Lord Peverell?” Greyback ground out, angrily.

“Ah. And so we get to the meat of my visit. Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black,” Rasalas spoke, calmly, “Please stand.”

Though it were pleasant, Bellatrix found herself dragged to her feet by an unseen force. Wands were instantly produced, but reluctantly put away, as all remembered how effective using them would really be. Bellatrix herself tried to go for her wand, but found her body wouldn't answer her command.

“What... what have you  _ done _ to me, you cursed brat?!” she shrieked.

“Me? Nothing. Blame ancient magic that none of you really understand. Quite laughable, that all of you continuously spout nonsense about blood purity and all that tripe, when in reality, you all appear to have no concept of what it truly means. Each and every one of us in this room are connected through blood. Even your leader sitting there. Peverell and Slytherin by blood.”

“Oh. And something else,” said Rasalas, grinning, “His father was a Muggle, also named Tom Riddle. It's where he got his name. I challenge anyone here to look it up.”

“You lie!!” Bellatrix shrieked, “Our Lord is a pure blooded wizard, blood far purer than yours ever will be, you filthy half-blood!”

Voldemort looked ready to explode, his nostrils were flaring, his eyes narrowed to near-slits.

“DO not call me that name, P-P-Peverell.”

“Why not? It is your birth name. Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Rasalas seemed to think a moment. “Thing is, Tom, I'm not here to talk about you. I'm here to talk about this sweet lady right here.” He'd drifted over to where Bellatrix had been rooted to the floor.

“See, Bellatrix, I have learned from several sources, that it was your hand who cast the curse which resulted in the death of Sirius. It was your hand, who murdered the  _ Pater Familias _ . As Draco found out over a week ago, and as Yaxley has also found out a few days ago, an attack against the  _ Pater Familias _ by a member of the family will result in grave consequences. So, dear Bellatrix... if the binding of one's magic is consequences for merely attacking the family's head... what sort of punishment might result from causing his  _ death _ ?

“I mean, Gringotts has already seized your vault—they weren't terribly impressed with you storing a Horcrux in your vault. I'm thinking of asking the bank to cede its contents to Madam Longbottom, in compensation for your attack on the family which left Neville's parents comatose. Or maybe I'll just dump the money into Hogwarts... the place does require a fair chunk of coin just for the upkeep... ah, the possibilities...”

“The ministry—”

“Will have no say in it, Bellatrix, and you should know that. I digress, getting way off the mark here, as I'm sure there are things you all might rather be doing, instead of listening to little 'ole me prattle on.

“Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. By right as the Black  _ Pater Familias _ , I demand your answer. Did you, or did you not, knowingly, and with malice, cast a spell at Sirius Orion Black, resulting in him falling through the death veil in the ministry of magic's department of mysteries?”

Bellatrix fought hard against the ancient magic. For several minutes, she forced her mouth to remain closed, her face quite literally vibrating with how hard she was trying to keep her jaws clamped shut.

“I have nowhere I need to be, dear Bellatrix,” said Rasalas, sweetly, “And trust me, the old magic will win out eventually. Though I do applaud your effort. The Black fortitude and all that—”

“YES! Yes, I did cast the spell which killed Sirius Black!” Bellatrix blurted out, and looked about ready to collapse.

“Aww, now was that so hard? That's a good girl,” said Rasalas, lightly. “I'm proud of you for finally admitting your mistake. But now, my dear, there comes consequences.”

“Sir Rasalas... please have mercy,” Narcissa spoke up.

Rasalas gave Narcissa a frigid look. “Mercy, madam Malfoy? Where was mercy given, when Neville's mother and father fell under your dear sister's wand? If I could, and get away with it, I would see her crucified, as that's exactly what she deserves.

“Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. I first decree that your marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange is hereby annulled, with the contents of the extensive dowry to be returned in full, or its full monetary value in lieu of.”

Bellatrix shrieked, as the golden wedding band seemed to dissolve off her ring finger. Rodolphus was on his feet, but his brother dragged him back down into his seat.

“That little piece of business now covered, miss Black. We move on to much more important matters. Miss Black, from more than a few sources, I know that you have committed most terrible things with the gifts you have been given. If I were required to list them all, we would be here for days.

“Honestly, I don't have that kind of time, and quite frankly, listing all of your crimes is not necessary, since there is only one that really counts as far as this family matter is concerned. By murdering Sirius, you demonstrated a complete disregard and contempt for the family you were born into. You demonstrate that you have no respect for balance, for unity, for your sisters and brothers who have been given the gift of magic.”

Rasalas felt something shift a moment, and it was as though something else were speaking through him.

“Therefore, Bellatrix Black. It is thusly decreed that, for crimes against both family and humanity, that your magical gifts be removed from your person, so no further harm might come from you. It is hoped that your soul will atone for the path you have chosen.  _ So mote it be _ !!”

There came a terrible shriek, and what resembled fingernails down a blackboard, as Bellatrix collapsed into a heap, blood pouring from all of her orifices. Rodolphus knelt down beside her, trying to give comfort, though it was futile. At this point, it was debatable whether the woman knew what was going on.

Rasalas, however, was not done, once again in full control of his mouth. That had been rather startling, but nonetheless effective. He would have to analyze the event from a pensieve later. He focused on the present.

“Bellatrix Black, by my right as the Black  _ Pater Familias _ , I decree that you are hereby banished from the family. You have lost the rights to 'Black', and all that encompasses it. Your children, should you bear them, will have no rights to the name.  _ So mote it be _ .”

Bellatrix let out another shriek, as a dark thread of magic floated out of her, to connect with Rasalas.

“Haven't you done enough?!” Narcissa demanded.

“Oh, I'm just about done. I have just one more thing to do. And I would suggest that you not interfere or voice objection again, or be involved rather  _ personally _ .”

Narcissa snapped her mouth shut, realizing the implication. She was a Black, too.

Rasalas smirked, if only briefly. “Bellatrix no-name. As the Peverell  _ Pater Familias _ , I decree that you are unfit to possess any of the family gifts or traits you have inherited from the line. You forfeit all rights to use the name, so extending to any children you might bring into this world.  _ So mote it be _ !”

Bellatrix let out another terrible shriek, as it felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out. She went rigid, convulsed several times, went rigid again, then fell still.

“Merlin... she's... she's dead,” Rodolphus sputtered, angrily, “You KILLED HER!!”

“ _ Ding dong, the witch is dead,(1) _ ” Rasalas sing-songed, before vanishing. 

The room erupted into chaos, while the Dark Lord sat at the end of the table, fuming. One of his chief lieutenants, one of his inner circle, now lay dead in the room, without Peverell casting a spell. At least not directly.

* * *

_March 6_

Things had fallen quiet, after the initial firestorm over Rasalas' actions. The vault seizures became permanent, with Rasalas directing most of the confiscated coin into the school's upkeep fund. On both Marcus and Bill's suggestion, some of the money was diverted to update the school's Quidditch equipment and the brooms. Better brooms would mean less chance for a student having an accident during flying lessons. Madam Hooch had been most appreciative of the donation.

During the day, Rasalas tended to be driven and focused, as they worked toward undermining more of Voldemort's supporters. There had been two more vault seizures, with one of them, the wizard named Alderan, being also stripped of his magic. He had been supplying the Death Eaters with inside information about ministry activity.

Madam Bones had also been warned about the potential danger from within the department, and she had since started an internal investigation into the entire department, in an effort to sniff out Death Eaters or sympathizers. No less than eleven people had been arrested as a result.

At night, however, when his unconscious mind ruled, Rasalas was by no means in a good place. Even with Brady sleeping right beside him, there was no reprieve from the oppressive grief Rasalas was able to shove off into a corner during his waking hours.

So, the young wizard found himself sleeping less and less, sometimes sleeping as little as four hours a night, all in the hope of escaping the terrible thoughts that plagued him. Some nights, Brady, Accolon, or Cai... sometimes all of them, would keep him company, but for the most part, Rasalas wanted to be alone, wandering the castle. The students now knew better than to attack him; doing so would be their end, that much was painfully clear.

On numerous occasions, he would be discovered as the castle came to life in the morning. Sometimes, it was a student. Other times, it was a ghost, and on a pair of occasions, it was a teacher. The encounter with Snape hadn't been all that pleasant, but Rasalas bore the man's frosty attitude being escorted to the great hall for breakfast, where he only picked at food put in front of him.

That brings us to the present, where, on that particular night in early March, Rasalas wasn't paying a whole lot of attention to where he was going, for the most part going on autopilot. Now, doing such a thing was not all that safe of an idea in the best of times. Being horribly distracted by a series of matters in his head, made it downright dangerous.

It so happened, that as Rasalas made to step onto a flight of stairs on the main staircase, it decided to shift, sending him toppling down onto the flight of stairs below. A terrible shriek brought students and teachers alike into the stairwell to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: A grave injury, a reunion... and the destruction of Slytherin's locket, oh my..._   
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Of all the chapters I've written so far, this is up there being one of my favourites. The scene dealing with Belletrix, I've been cooking that one up for a while, and it's only fair that Harry/Rasalas gets a chance to lash out at the crazy bitch... though he didn't actually plan on killing her. Really, death is too easy, considering what she did to Sirius._   
> _(1) Come on, guys, you knew I was going to use it, right?_


	46. In Name Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A grave injury, a reunion... and the destruction of Slytherin's locket, oh my..._

**307\. IN NAME ONLY  
March, 2007**

> “ _We are only puppets, our strings are being pulled by unknown forces.”_

  
_\- Georg Buchner_   


* * *

It was much later in the evening before anyone in the sanctuary learned of what had happened, thanks to Madam Pomfrey; she had sent a message to Brady. When they arrived, they found she had already looked after any physical injuries, but the young wizard was still unconscious.

“How did he come to be injured?” questioned Accolon.

“No one can be sure,” madam Pomfrey answered, “A number of students and Professor McGonagall heard him shout, and he was discovered on the third floor landing.”

“How bad was he hurt?” Brady asked.

“His injuries were serious, but nothing I haven't been able to treat. Now all of you understand, he must rest. He's been given a dose of Skele-Gro and a dreamless sleep potion.”

“We'll be stayin' with 'im.” It wasn't a question.

“As long as you keep it quiet, then it's perfectly fine. Lord Peverell is my only guest, but that can change at any time, so keep that in mind.”

Madam Pomfrey did one more check, before retreating to her office.

“He can't be l-l-l-l-left alone from here on out,” Ryan decided, “Someone could've p-p-pushed him, right?”

“No shit,” Aaron agreed, “Lord or not, there's still people here who'll attack him.”

“Something that needs to be sorted out, is some sort of plan in the event something does happen to him,” said Marcus. “He does have a lot of enemies.”

“It always been that way?” Brady wondered.

“Since he set foot in the school,” Marcus answered, “He was supposed to be Dumbledore's protege and all that rot. When I was a student, I hated him. So did most of my peers in Slytherin. It was expected, you see.”

“And now?” asked Aaron.

“I know better. I was on the wrong side, and so were my peers. I mean, my reasons for approaching him on New Year's Eve were selfish. I'm a Slytherin. It's always gonna be about what I can get out of it. Namely save my ass and maybe live longer.

“Thing is, being around you lot has shown me that just surviving isn't good enough. I have a chance to make a difference, maybe make our world a better place.”

“Something's got me thinking,” said Aaron, “What if... what if he did this on purpose?”

“Suicide?”

“C'mon. Think about it, guys. He's really not done well since the beginning of the year.”

Brady shook his head. “Can't see it. I think he's stronger than that. 'an really, leavin' it to a movin' staircase? There's easier ways.”

“He's r-r-right,” Ryan agreed, “And I doubt the Goddess w-w-w-would be too happy with him if he ch-checked out. I think he knows that.”

“When he wakes, we will have him see healer Theresa,” Accolon decided, “She would have much better insight into such matters.”

“Yeah, agreed. B-b-but from here on out, at least one of us needs to b-b-be here for when he w-w-w-wakes up.”

* * *

Things settled into a routine over the next few days, with there being at least one person staying with Rasalas in the hospital wing. There had been debate about moving him back to the sanctuary and having Theresa continue care instead, but with Dumbledore only expressing concern and not doing much else, it was decided that things were fine as is.

A number of Rasalas' school friends also spent time with him when they were able—rarely during the day considering they did have classes. After dinner and into the evening, then, did get a little noisier than Madam Pomfrey would like. However, with Rasalas being the only patient, she let it slide. The young wizard needed his friends close.

* * *

_March 23_

Winter at last transitioned into spring, with Rasalas still being in a deep coma. Brady had pretty much moved into the hospital wing, wanting to stay close. It had meant leaving the laptop in the sanctuary, since it was well known that the intense magical atmosphere did damage to electronic devices. It was still confusing that electronic devices worked perfectly fine in the sanctuary, even with the equally intense magical atmosphere.

On this particular night, it had been a little busier, given it was a Friday. By 10 pm, the students had all retreated to the dormitory, with it being an hour past curfew. Since both Ron and Hermione were prefects, they were able to escort their house mates and not be concerned about having house points deducted or receiving detentions.

It was 11:30 when Cai and Accolon returned to the sanctuary thanks to Kreacher. Though Brady was staying with Rasalas, it was still agreed on that everyone would be close as much as possible. So the pair had returned to the sanctuary with plan of getting a few hours' rest.

That was, until Cai listened at the door leading back into Camelot. To his surprise, he could hear a faint echo from the other side.

“Accolon. Put your ear to the door and tell me if you hear the same as I.”

Accolon did as asked, and gave a nod. “Unmistakable. I hear sounds of the castle.”

Cai reached for the handle, tried it, and to his surprise, it turned easily, the door swinging open to reveal the darkened chamber on the other side.

“My word...”

“Let us pull it closed, and—”

“Cai. Rasalas needs Arthur sooner than later,” said Accolon.

Cai could only nod in agreement, and the pair stepped into the chamber. In the dim light, they could see Arthur sleeping fitfully on the large bed, but... he had changed. His hair had grown out, as had his beard, being an unkempt, shaggy mess.

Accolon leaned in, and gently shook the sleeping monarch. “Sire?”

Arthur let out a moan, and his eyes flew open. “Accolon?!”

“Sire. It... it is I, along with Cai.”

Confusion momentarily crossed his face, to be quickly replaced by relief.

“Arthur. Rasalas needs you. He has suffered grave injury, and will not wake,” said Cai.

Now, relief became concern. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and with a flick of the hand, retrieved Excalibur—his magic wasn't all that strong, but it was strong enough he could pull off a robust arsenal of spells, including the summoning charm. He quickly threw on a rough-spun shirt and pair of pants, then stood up, securing his sword to his waist.

“Take me to Rasalas.”

“Kreacher,” Cai called.

There came a pop, and Kreacher appeared. He looked momentarily surprised, seeing where they were, and more importantly, that Arthur was then among them. “His majesty returns to us. Master Rasalas will be relieved,” he croaked out.

“As are we, little friend. Can you take all of us back to the hospital wing?”

“If sirs will take my hands.”

Arthur, Accolon, and Cai did as asked, and they vanished with barely a sound.

Only a moment later, they appeared in the hospital wing. The others looked up, hearing the feet hit the floor, but it was Brady who noticed first. He had conjured up a stack of pillows, and used them to prop himself up in the enlarged bed. Rasalas lay still on the opposite side.

“Your majesty. 's good you're back. Ras needs 'ya.”

“As I have been told.”

“You... sire, you have changed,” said Aaron, “How... what...” He was clearly confused.

“And yet, all of you have not,” said Arthur.

“Uh... you can have my spot,” Brady offered, making to get up.

Arthur shook his head. “If you will make room, your company is still welcome. I trust you have stood in my place.”

“Yeah, somewhat,” said Brady. He flicked a hand at the bed, further enlarging it to accommodate the extra person. “I ain't been much help though.”

“Better than him sleeping completely alone,” said Aaron.

Arthur, meanwhile, shed the rough-spun shirt, and lay down on the opposite side of Rasalas. Brady tossed over a pillow, and the monarch stuffed it behind him.

“Twenty years have passed since I last lay eyes on your faces. Yet you have aged not. It is as though I have stepped through time... the door connecting our worlds aside.”

“It's been three months here,” said Brady.

“Ras has been doing very poorly while we were separated, sir,” said Aaron, “Even with a few successes, his whole mood just sucked. I still say this—” Aaron indicated their unconscious friend, “—was a suicide attempt.”

Arthur shook his head. “No. I believe the Goddess would outright prevent such a thing.”

“And what's this? He s-s-s-survived. If anything, it k-k-k-kind of supports Aaron's point,” Ryan argued.

“My heart says otherwise. Our young knight has a stronger will than that. Stronger than my wayward wife, or the serpent who has wrested control of most of my knights and companions away from me. Very few remain loyal to me.”

“Mordred,” said Aaron.

“My bastard son, yes. I have made grave mistake of naming him my war duke. I am king in name only. It is he who truly controls Camelot.”

Arthur still looked somewhat relieved to be among friendly faces. “Now tell me, how is it he came to be injured.”

“Fell in the main stairwell, at least according to Professor McGonagall,” said Aaron.

“How serious were his injuries?”

“Nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix,” said Brady, “'an she's been real cool with us all bein' close. But he ain't interested in wakin'. She's tried lots'a spells an' shit.”

“His heart is broken such was mine,” said Arthur, “I fell into sorrow, and became less attentive to events that played out... action I now deeply regret, being forced to reap the poisoned fruit from the crop sewn by my hand.”

“The first week, Ras was only a bit concerned, since this happened before. But it's really been the past couple of months he's not done all that well,” said Aaron.

“Did you attempt to break through the door?” Arthur wondered.

“No. We figured it was the same thing as back in August,” Brady answered.

Arthur furrowed his brows. “We made many attempts. Not even Aunt Viviane's great magic had effect. She advised us to do nothing further, and allow the situation to resolve itself.”

“Though I don't think she thought it would take years,” said Aaron.

“She did grow concerned, yes. However, we realized there was nothing we could do. And in recent years, we have fallen out of contact.”

“That must change, sir,” said Accolon, “We must return to Avalon and continue training.”

“Though I shall wait for Rasalas to wake before I reveal extent, know that Camelot is not as you remember it.”

“N-n-n-no shit. Twenty y-y-years. Ras is gonna f-f-f-freak.”

* * *

In the early hours of the following morning, both Arthur and Brady were awakened, feeling Rasalas shifting about. For Brady, it was the first voluntary movement out of his dear friend since before the accident.

The young wizard rolled onto his side, so he faced Arthur, and let out a parched sigh, before opening his eyes. They widened, seeing the face looking back at him, and he reached out a hand. Arthur reached out with a hand of his own, and grasped it.

“If this is a dream... I don't want to wake,” Rasalas managed. His voice was hoarse from the prolonged silence.

Arthur guided Rasalas' hand so it touched his face. “It is no dream, Ras. Accolon and Cai brought me to you late last evening.”

Brady at last reached over and put a hand on Rasalas' shoulder. “'ya had all of us worried, Ras.”

“I'm sorry...”

“For what? Ain't your fault. Even though Aaron thinks 'ya tried to off yourself, 'an I told him he's full of shit.”

“Moron,” Rasalas muttered, though a smile briefly touched his lips. He licked them, trying to get moisture back into his mouth. It once again tasted like someone had taken a dump in it.

“The Goddess wouldn't let me. I've still got things to do, and even after. My heart ached, yeah... but to kill myself? I'm not _that_ loopy.”

He found himself pulled close, and just like that, an enormous weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.

“The time without you has been difficult, young wizard,” said Arthur.

“What... what happened to you? You look... older.”

“Twenty years,” said Arthur. “Twenty years since I last saw you. Twenty years being separated from you by a door. There were days when I could have sworn I could hear something on the other side, only to be disappointed when I attempted to turn the handle.”

Rasalas felt bewildered. How would he have coped had the tables been reversed? Twenty years, knowing his love was on the other side of the door, but not being able to open it? Why?! Why had this happened? That Arthur was made to suffer for so long. It was incomprehensible.

He reached up a hand, feeling the king's beard. It was coarse and unkempt, matching his hair.

“You need a trim.”

“As do you,” said Arthur, reaching up to feel Rasalas' beard. Rasalas was startled by the bizarre sensation.

“Bloody hell...”

“'an your hair's grown out,” Brady chipped in, “Needin' a haircut, both of 'ya.”

“Not a priority,” Rasalas answered, more interested in staring into Arthur's eyes.

They remained that way for another hour or so, before Madam Pomfrey at last entered the hospital wing. Seeing an extra body in the bed with Rasalas had her about to scold the addition, but seeing Rasalas awake... as well as who the extra person turned out to be... put a very quick end to her impending rant.

“Sir Peverell. It's good to see you've returned to the living,” she commented, “Now if I might conduct a few spells to see how you're doing.”

“Uh. Right.”

Arthur and Rasalas separated, allowing Madam Pomfrey to conduct her tests. In all, it took only a few minutes.

“Well?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I've slept for three months, but otherwise, fine, physically. Thank you for looking after me... and putting up with my entourage. I'm sure the lot of them have been in and about since I got here.”

“Oh, they have. As have a number of your former classmates,” said Madam Pomfrey, indicating a table beside the bed. It was piled high with small gifts and cards.

Rasalas grinned. “Glad to know that so many people here still care about me.”

“Oh come on, Sir Peverell, you have quite a fan club, and you know it.”

“Oh now she's being cheeky,” Rasalas grinned.

Brady swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up. A gesture of a hand had him instantly dressed.

“I'm guessin' he can come back to the sanctuary now.”

“Yes, no sense in him remaining here if he's physically well. Though I would recommend healer Fleming see him, sooner rather than later.”

“I plan on it,” said Rasalas, while Arthur also got up.

“Even though you might be well physically, I would encourage you to take things slowly for the next few days, and let your body get accustomed to moving about once again.”

“How long was I out of it... I mean, what's the date?”

“March 24,” Brady answered.

“Bloody hell... nearly three weeks.” He thought for a moment. “Kreacher?”

Kreacher appeared with a soft pop, looking pleased to hear the summons from his master. Still, he remained composed.

“Sir Rasalas call for Kreacher?”

“Yeah. Could you take all of the cards and gifts I've been given back to the sanctuary?”

“At you wish,” Kreacher answered, and with a snap of the fingers, the gifts and cards all vanished. He vanished an instant later.

“Err... right then.”

“Sure you're all right?” Brady smirked.

“Piss off,” Rasalas smirked right back. “Uh... let's get back to the sanctuary. Unless...”

“By all means,” said Madam Pomfrey. “But do get in contact with your healer. It's better safe than sorry.”

“It's the first fire-call I'll be making, though a little later. It's still the middle of the night back in Ontario, and I don't think she would want a fire-call at this hour.”

“Very well. And though I would like to come do a follow-up with you in perhaps a week, try not to land back here anytime soon.”

“Trust me. Here is the last place I want to be. But once again thank you for your care, as always.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Sir Rasalas. Now scoot, the lot of you.”

The three of them took their time traveling the corridors of the school, given the time difference. Very little was said between them, with Rasalas content to be once again in Arthur's company. A massive hole had suddenly been filled, and it was as if he'd awakened from a bad dream.

All too soon, it was time for breakfast. Rasalas debated the idea of having breakfast in the great hall, but given he'd only just woken after being out of it for nearly three weeks... no. He could visit with his school friends later. So, they made a track back to the guest suite, and from there, stepped into the sanctuary.

Voices coming from the dining room led them there, where they found breakfast was out, with everyone already gathered.

“Praise the lord he lives!” Aaron exclaimed, dramatically. Ryan gave him a swat for the effort.

“Piss off,” Rasalas grinned, as he took a seat. It was then he realized he was ravenous. No proper food for nearly three weeks, yeah, that would do it.

“So were you let out of the hospital wing, or did you escape?” Bill wanted to know.

“Madam Pomfrey gave me a final check-up but let us leave,” answered Rasalas, “Though I do want to speak with Theresa later.”

“Though it will likely be redundant, Ras. If your heart was in the same place as mine...” said Arthur.

“It's still a good idea she and I meet. It's been three weeks. What... what's been going on in my absence?”

“Marcus has at least three new names you can go after through Gringotts,” said Bill, “The bank sent documentation, you just need to act on it.”

“That's good. Three more followers he'll lose, even if I can't seize the contents of their vaults.”

“You have done so previously,” Arthur guessed.

“A fistful of people, yeah,” Rasalas answered, “doing so cuts off funding for the Death Eaters and so on. Seizing Malfoy's assets really dealt them a blow.

“Thing is, I take it a step further and expel them from the family. If it can be proven they've attacked me personally, then I can also bind their magic. The last time I did that... it was against Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“The woman responsible for Sirius' death,” Arthur remembered.

Rasalas gave a nod. “Unfortunate the outcasting resulted in her death. It would have been better had she had to live without magic. It would've been hell.”

“'an Ras found all the Horcruxes,” said Brady. “There's one left.”

“Right. We still haven't figured out how to destroy it, and worse yet, we've not been able to open it.”

“Perhaps we might attempt after we finish here,” Arthur suggested, reaching down and partially unsheathing Excalibur.

Rasalas gave an evil smirk. “Yeah. If that won't do it, then I don't know what will.”

The remainder of the day passed with Rasalas not venturing far from the sanctuary. He discovered that either Ryan or his mother had updated the sanctuary's altar to reflect the changing season. There had been four more significant storms during the near three weeks he'd been unconscious, and even though spring had arrived, the world was still by all accounts entombed in deep snow.

It was late in the evening before Theresa was at last able to visit, having been tied up for most of the day with other patients back at the hospital. She spent the next three hours speaking with both Arthur and Rasalas, for similar reasons. She quickly put to bed the notion that Rasalas had tried to commit suicide. Though he'd been distraught over the lengthy separation, the typical markers of an individual bent on killing themselves was absent.

* * *

It was several days later before Rasalas felt like doing anything. He had closed the door leading back into Camelot, and a small part of him toyed with the idea of destroying it, consequences be damned. His common sense won out, as he knew they did eventually need to return to Avalon and continue with training.

For now, though, he was content to be at Arthur's side, and do very little. If their time was finite, he would take advantage of every waking moment. Being idle, however...

“Rasalas. Though this is more than comfortable, we cannot remain idle,” said Arthur. The pair of them were once again parked in front of the fireplace in the sanctuary's common room.

“But...”

“There are matters that demand your attention, are there not?”

“Well...”

“Marcus has a short list of individuals has he not? And there is the matter of the cursed locket. Come. Both of us have been idle for far too long.”

Rasalas could only nod along. Arthur was right. And what better way to get rolling again, than to take one more swipe against the Dark Lord's power?

“Kreacher?” he called out.

Kreacher hurried in from the kitchen. “Sir Rasalas has called?”

“I need Slytherin's locket. We're going to try and destroy it.”

Kreacher nodded enthusiastically and popped away, only to return a moment later with the item in question.

“Can Sir Rasalas really do it?” he questioned hopefully, holding the locket out in front of him.

“Between the lot of us, I believe so. When we finish, you may have what's left,” Rasalas promised, as he collected the cursed item.

“Master is kind.”

“Come on then. Uh... where's Brady?”

“Isn't he in his studio?” Arthur thought aloud.

“Kreacher, go get Brady. We're going in the training room I think. I'd call on Bill as well, but he's gone to work—”

“Rasalas. We should be fine,” said Arthur, as they crossed the room. Kreacher, meanwhile, once again popped way.

The room they'd designated the training room was directly beside the planetarium—which was also once again unlocked. The room was rectangular, somewhat resembling the configuration used for the defence club in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. At present, the room was for the most part empty, not having been used for the better part of a month.

“Wha's goin' on?” Brady asked, coming up behind them, Kreacher in tow.

“Arthur wants to have a go at the remaining Horcrux. Thought it best there be a few of us around in case things go pear-shaped.”

The room had already provided a granite block on Rasalas' request, and he then set the locket on it. The chorus of voices all speaking at once was unnerving—the locket had been sealed away in a sound-proof container for a very good reason.

“All right, Arthur. It's all yours,” said Rasalas. 

He took a few steps back, while Arthur stepped up to the block, and unsheathed Excalibur. Nothing further was said, as he raised the magical weapon high over his head, and brought it down in a powerful swing.

There came a mighty  _KLANG_ , as steel met stone, and the locket went flying, to land on the floor about ten feet away. It vibrated angrily a moment, then a stormy black cloud surged from it.

“ _A noble, but weak attempt, from a man who is king in name only,_ ” a voice hissed from the locket. “ _Such a weak heart, letting love get in the way of power, power now stripped from you by your bastard son..._ ”

“Arthur!! Don't listen to it, strike it again!!” Rasalas pressed.

Arthur, however, was rooted to the floor, as the cloud seemed to morph into a distorted figure. From a recovered memory of his second year, Rasalas knew it was a younger version of Voldemort. Likely from just a few years out of Hogwarts.

“ _Abandoned by both your wife, and your first knight... with most of your companions to soon follow. Why do you stay? Why do you fight, when to flee would be easier? How long before all the land knows of your misdeeds? How long before Mordred spills his secret?_ ”

Arthur tried to raise the powerful weapon again, but faltered, the abomination's words having their desired effect.

“Ras... Patronus charm,” Brady suggested.

Rasalas gave a nod, and with a wave of his hand, produced his Patronus. The charm had an immediate effect, and shade-Riddle shrunk back, and let out a hiss.

“Unlike what you might believe, Riddle, we're in charge here,” said Rasalas, calmly, “It is you that is the abomination, having torn your soul into seven different pieces. No sane person would ever commit such terrible things.”

Before the shade could utter anything further, Arthur again raised Excalibur over his head, and brought it down in another decisive swing. This time, there came a terrible scream, as the smoky shade seemed to explode into dust. Both Rasalas and Brady prepared to cast spells to protect themselves, but found it unnecessary. The locket lay shattered in several pieces, their remains giving off a wisp of dark smoke.

Arthur, meanwhile, sank to his knees, the sword clattering to the floor beside him.

“Arthur?” Rasalas rushed to his side.

“I... I...”

“It... it's okay.” Rasalas knelt down beside him, and pulled him into a hug.

* * *

Voldemort once again mentally sighed, as his nemesis appeared a few feet away from his high-backed chair in front of the fire.

“And who do I owe the displeasure of your visit _this_ time?” he hissed.

“I only come bringing a gift,” Rasalas grinned, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a small vial. “You should find this memory... amusing. Or not.”

He tossed the vial to the Dark Lord, and simply vanished.

Voldemort stared at the vial now clutched in his hand, then at the spot where the meddlesome boy had stood only a moment ago. What had he done now?

“Wormtail! My pensieve!” he shouted.

A short time later, Wormtail approached, bringing the demanded item. He set it on the small table beside the chair, and stood back.

“Leave me.”

He sneered, as the pathetic little man scurried away, much like his animal form would. His loyalty was only out of fear... he could read the man like a book. However, with the thinning of his followers recently, the Dark Lord couldn't be picky.

Now, for the memory. He popped the cork off the vial, and dumped its contents into the shimmering liquid. He then stuck a finger in it, and froze, as he was pulled into it.

The memory was rather brief, but very clear, and not that of his nemesis, considering the brat was in the scene... along with another man who brandished a longsword. He immediately recognized Slytherin's locket, and the ghostly shade that had come out of it... and now he knew what he was about to see. The shade had launched a few nasty barbs at the man named Arthur, but the man was stronger, and just like that, the piece of the Dark Lord's soul was gone.

He exited the pensieve, enraged. Why had he not known, felt it, when the precious safeguards that guaranteed his immortality were destroyed? Not that it would have made a whole lot of difference, considering the brat had had the item for some time.

He had debated about creating another, but the text had warned about doing so. Even creating as many as he had, there had been tremendous risk. Doing so again might very well result in his death—something he was trying to avoid in the  _first place_ .

The question then was, what was the boy waiting for? Why had he not tried to finish the job up to this point? The tables reversed, the Dark Lord would not hesitate. A green bolt of magic, and that would be it.

Well. If he wanted to wait, he, Lord Voldemort, would take advantage. The werewolf clans were on board, as were the giants... and though he didn't care for the timing... the brat's actions were forcing his hand a little. He still had the numbers needed. The operation at the mudblood's residence would be just the tip of the iceberg, and it would be proven without a shadow of a doubt, just who was the most powerful, the most influential wizard.

There would be no mistakes this time. And with a few instructions, a contingency plan,  _he_ would have the last laugh. No matter the outcome this time around, his followers would not scatter to the wind. There was an agenda to carry out... whether he was alive or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Unwelcome visitors come calling at the Sawyers, the prelude to a larger event..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So, Slytherin's Locket bites the dust. Of course, this scene is most certainly modelled after the canon scene. Shade-Riddle would definitely have lots of ammunition with which to torment Arthur, just as it did in canon with Ron._


	47. Compounded Calamity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Unwelcome visitors come calling at the Sawyers, the prelude to a larger event..._

**308\. COMPOUNDED CALAMITY  
March/April, 2007**

> “ _Necessity may well be called the mother of invention but calamity is the test of integrity.”_  
> 

  
_\- Samuel Richardson_   


* * *

_April 2, 2007_  
_8:11 am_

The shop had only been open for about ten minutes, though the five staff had been there since 7:30. Phil found a courier waiting at the door, and so beckoned for him to follow. This was by no means an unusual occurrence, with both clients sending things out for repair, or parts being delivered from suppliers.

What did strike Phil as rather odd, however, was the rather sluggish behaviour of the courier. It was like he was on autopilot or something, or perhaps he'd not gotten enough sleep...

No matter. He signed the clipboard, and accepted the package, sending the courier on his way, still slightly confused by his behaviour. He then turned his attention to the package. It was a medium-sized box, maybe two-foot square, while the packing slip indicated it was from a supplier in Barrie, a firm they did business with on a regular basis.

Phil picked up an exacto knife up off the nearby counter, and used it to cut the packing tape, then pulled back the flaps...

* * *

Breakfast was just wrapping up in the sanctuary, the dishes and leftovers being spirited away by both Dobby and Kreacher. Everyone had been in agreement that it was time to return to Avalon. It had been four months since any sort of proper training had gone on.

“Why didn't we get going sooner?” Aaron wanted to know, “It's gonna be after one o'clock, right?”

“Today's just about meeting up with Morgaine and Viviane,” said Rasalas, “For them it's been twenty years since we left. So it'll be about catching up.”

“Though my separation from Morgaine has been less-so, a number of years have passed,” said Arthur, “Ras' point is more than valid. I look forward to reunion.”

“All right—” Rasalas winced, feeling the property wards once again screaming in his head. The location of the problem came to him at once: the Sawyers' commercial shop.

“Ras?” Arthur questioned, looking worried.

Brady also looked worried. “Ras? What... wha's wrong?”

“Wards just went nuts! Shit... shit shit... something blew up, knocked the wards out a few moments—”

“Ryan!! Rasalas!” came Casey's alarmed cry from the parlour. A moment later, she framed the door to the dining room, with both Corey and his mother in tow. They also looked concerned.

Ryan became worried. “M-ma? What's wrong?”

“The shop... fire... oh my word... explosion, shook the house!”

Now Ryan looked alarmed. “W-w-where's Da?”

“He was in the shop!” Casey exclaimed, even more distraught.

“You guys go through the house. Uh... Arthur and Brady, with me.”

Rasalas simply grabbed his two friends, and vanished.

They landed in the driveway, and it was a good thing they did, for the small parking lot in front of the shop was littered with burning debris. The building itself had been partially leveled by an explosion, with thick black smoke roaring from the ruin.

“Fuck, looks like a bomb went off,” said Brady.

“This is gonna kill Ryan,” Rasalas muttered, waving his hand at a nearby piece of burning wreckage. It was instantly extinguished. Wait. The wards warned of intruders.

“Wonderful. We have company. I want one of them alive,” Rasalas decided.

“Where?”

“North side of the wreckage.”

“Sir Rasalas. Your majesty,” said Auror Jackson, hurrying over, “We saw the explosion.”

“Intruders coming, north side of the shop,” Rasalas repeated.

“NO!!” came Ryan's pained shout. The others had caught up with them, having come through the Sawyers' house. Aaron had to physically restrain him, with Accolon quickly lending a hand.

“There's nothing we can do,” said Rasalas, “Worse, we have intruders. Aaron, get Ryan back inside, let us handle it.”

“NO! I won't—”

Brady simply stunned him.

“I... I'll look after him,” Aaron promised, “Uh... could I get a port key?”

Rasalas gave a nod, reached down and picked up a small piece of wreckage, and programmed it. “This'll take you back to the common room.”

“Mr. Watson, fire-call the ministry, notify them of a potential Death Eater attack here,” said Auror Jackson, “We may need backup.”

“Stay with Ryan. Last thing we need is him being all—”

Rasalas found himself dragged to the ground by Brady, as a storm of green magic flashed overhead.

“We must seek cover,” said Accolon, “This location is indefensible.”

Brady let out a snort. “No shit. Aaron, get outa here.”

“Lock all the doors into the sanctuary.”

“Got it.” Aaron gripped Ryan by the arm, and activated the port key.

As they vanished in a blur of limbs, Rasalas said, “I want at least one alive so I can get some answers. Anyone else, they're dead.”

“Wards... 'ya raise 'em to lethal?” Brady asked.

“They're already inside. It won't matter. And whatever they did, it significantly weakened the wards as it is, I can feel them slowly powering back up. It's how they got in, the explosion was designed to knock out the wards for good. Unfortunately for them—”

The group was again forced to move, as another storm of green magic flew at them.

“At least seven hostiles,” said Jackson, “Regroup the north side of the wreckage.”

Rasalas thought a moment, but was interrupted as a storm of red magic was thrown their way. Reductor curses. Knowing they were block-able, Rasalas produced a strong barrier. The spells bounced harmlessly off of it, to dissipate in the atmosphere.

“Brady, hold the shield.”

“Got it.”

While Brady maintained the protection, Rasalas created a second port key. They vanished, to then reappear on the north side of the shattered shop. The heat was almost unbearable, with flames roaring high into the sky. After all, there were plenty of volatile substances kept on the premises, things that were both explosive and flammable.

“Sir Rasalas, we need to think about getting you out of here,” said one of the Aurors.

“No,” Rasalas answered, forcefully, “They storm onto my property—or the property of a dear friend... no this ends now. They'll face justice, one way or another.”

“Though I advise against it, it's your call,” said Auror Jackson, “The ministry's behind you one hundred percent.”

“Then I'm usin' my broom.”

“Disillusion yourself.”

“No shit.” Brady reached into his pouch, and produced his broom.

“I will join you,” Accolon decided, “Though my ability is weaker—”

“It's adequate,” Rasalas answered, as Brady restored the broom to proper size, and mounted it.

Accolon quickly got on the back, and the pair immediately vanished.

“Rasalas. Look toward the wind break, a little south of us,” said Arthur.

“Where—ah. Got them. Thing about the disillusionment charm, is that it's not perfect.”

His hand suddenly shot out, and the assailants found themselves instantly visible, being dragged forward by an invisible hook. They attempted to retaliate, but Rasalas had already erected a strong shield, and the offensive magic simply dissipated.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ” one of them shrieked, and an Auror had to drag Arthur out of the line of fire, resulting in the deadly spell slamming into the ground, sending snow and soil in all directions.

Rasalas ended the summoning spell, but launched a fireball at the one responsible for casting the killing curse. He was instantly enveloped in flames; his shrieks were pitiful. The second found himself bound from the neck down, and only seconds later, found Rasalas towering over him.

An explosion rang out from the south, and Rasalas smirked. He turned his attention back to the bound captive at his feet.

“What do we have here?” he sneered, “Where's your glorious prize now? Where is your foolish dark lord?”

“He will destroy you in the end, P-p-p-peverell,” the man sneered back.

“No. He won't. It will be I, Lord Peverell, who will end your _master_. And guess what genius? It's all because of you and your merry band of misfits, and this attack you have perpetrated on foreign soil. Can't wait to see how the Canadian ministry reacts. I just know it's gonna be _precious_.”

He then pressed a finger to his throat. “One down, live capture. The others, K.O.S.”

“ _Gotcha_!” came the reply, somewhere east of them.

“K.O.S.?” Arthur questioned.

“Kill on site,” said Auror Jackson, with a frown, “Rasalas...”

“What?”

“It is the young knight's decision, Auror,” said Arthur.

“High treason, sir,” said another Auror, “That one—” he pointed to the burned corpse, “—did attempt to kill his majesty. That's high treason, sir.”

Jackson scowled, and let out a huff. Canadian laws were rather clear on vigilantism, but Arthur's presence changed the game. It would mean a very interesting report to be filed—most of it classified.

“Kreacher,” Rasalas called.

_Pop_ . “Sir Rasalas call for Kreacher?”

“Please see to this man. He's being detained. No one is to have contact with him for any reason until we return.”

“He is placed under arrest for treason, our young friend,” Arthur added.

“Kreacher will keep him secured, your majesty.” He bowed low, before grabbing the captive by the boot, and vanishing.

“GET DOWN!” one of the Aurors shouted, and everyone hit the deck, as a storm of spells flew overhead. That coincided with a blast of magic from the air, which set three assailants on fire, narrowly missing the fourth. Rasalas caught the hesitation, and thrust a hand out in the direction of the man just as he twisted on the spot to Disapparate, and it was a momentary battle of two forms of magic before—SPLAT.

“Okay then. New level of gross,” Rasalas muttered. He flung a hand out and spun in a circle. “That's all of them.”

“We clear?” came Brady's voice.

“Clear.”

Brady and Accolon re-materialized not far from the group, still aloft.

“That was rather messy,” said Accolon, as they descended to the ground and dismounted.

“Only good terrorist's a dead one,” said Brady, as he stowed his broom away.

“Save for the one I'll be questioning with Veritaserum. Kreacher's got him locked away for now. Let's put this fire out.”

It took only a minute or so to beat down the roaring inferno that had been the commercial shop. Then, even after it was all over and done, Rasalas could still practically taste the magical residue. It had been a catastrophic, magically created explosion.

Far worse, he realized, he now had to comb through the mess, looking for the remains of Ryan's father and the five mechanics who would have been present.

“Sir Rasalas. We'll look after the aftermath, search for bodies,” said one of the Aurors.

“Thank you. I have a friend who needs looking after, need to fire-call Theresa I think...”

* * *

Returning to the sanctuary, however, they very quickly learned it was far from over, as the fireplace roared to life, expelling both Fred and George.

“Ras! Thank Merlin...” George exclaimed, “Massive explosion next door to us... fire, lots of injuries...”

“We just got an owl delivery,” Fred continued, “Medium-sized package—”

“We know! Fire-call the ministry, they need to suspend the post, warn people,” said Rasalas.

“You didn't open it I trust,” said Arthur.

Both Fred and George shook their heads.

Rasalas, meanwhile, produced his Patronus. “Dumbledore. Urgent. Lock down the owlry and the school. Death Eaters sending explosive packages. Attack here at residence, also in Simcoe Crossing. Warn the ministry.” Then, “To Albus Dumbledore, urgent.”

Fred, meanwhile, was once again at the fireplace, his head in the fire.

“Bloody hell... they could cripple the ministry...”

“It appears as though this might have only been a distraction,” said Arthur.

“We knew there was a cell operating here in Canada, just not sure exactly where, or exactly how many.”

“We will get answers from the captive,” said Arthur.

“That will have to wait.”

Fred pulled his head back out of the fire. “They're locking down the floo network.”

“Brady... you're bleeding,” said Accolon.

Brady looked down, to only now notice the blood. He shed his jacket, revealing a nasty gash in his right forearm. He simply pressed a finger to the injury, and barely flinched, as it healed. He then flicked a hand at his jacket, fixing the damage to the sleeve, as well as damage to the side. He looked down at this side, but found no injury.

It was then a silvery phoenix materialized close to them.

“ _Sir Rasalas. Warning received. Ministry locked down. Stores damaged in Diagon Alley, unknown number of casualties. School is also in lockdown._ ”

Rasalas furrowed his brows. “Just great. We may need to protect Hogwarts from this rubbish.”

“What... what happened?” George questioned.

“Death Eater attack—Mr. Sawyer was killed, the shop destroyed...”

“They got a package,” Fred guessed.

Rasalas gave a nod. “I'm sure of it. Uh... we might need your help.”

“Count on it,” said George.

It was then that Ryan entered the common room, with Aaron close behind. He still looked shell-shocked.

“W-w-we're coming.”

“This... if they attack the school. It's gonna be worse than the ministry.”

“What purpose will it serve if they should attack Hogwarts?” Arthur questioned.

“Attacking my friends, attacking muggleborns, there are plenty of reasons, Art,” Rasalas answered, “I've already told you before. He's a terrorist. It's the sort of thing terrorists do. And it's pretty obvious, I think. I mean, targeting both ministries, attacking here, it's all about throwing us off balance.

“Thing is, he doesn't know what sort of connections I have, how quickly I'm able to move around—excluding my projection ability... he knows about that, at least partially. He attacks the school, he's in for a very nasty surprise.”

He gave a grim smile. “He attacks the school, things end there.”

“And thus fulfilling your purpose here,” said Arthur. He slid his arm around Rasalas. “You could then lend all your support at Camelot.”

Rasalas gave another smile, this one a little brighter. “Easily. But let's put minds on the present.”

Rasalas turned back to Ryan. “I'm sorry about your dad. But... I need you at your best right now. Can you keep it together?”

“Y-yeah. J-j-just... I'll deal. G-g-g-game face, right?”

“No,” said Arthur. “You have just lost your father. You will be a liability.”

That earned a furious look from Ryan and Aaron both, but Rasalas had to agree. No matter the intention, he would have no chance of keeping focus.

“Arthur's right. Your mum needs your support right now. As much as I would like the extra manpower... stay here.”

“I want th-th-them to hurt!!” Ryan shouted, “Th-they _killed_ him! B-b-b-burned him alive and b-blew him t-t-to fuck!!!”

“I know you do. But—”

“Such anger will only cloud your judgment,” said Accolon, softly, “It will only lead to you or your allies being seriously injured or killed.”

“Stay here or we stun 'ya,” said Brady.

Ryan gave Brady a frigid look, while Aaron simply huffed, and slid an arm around his boyfriend. “C'mon. They're right. Your mom needs you right now.”

Rasalas watched the pair enter the dining room. He then flicked a hand at himself, quickly exchanging his street clothes for his armour. “Should've done this earlier. Arthur?”

“I am still unable to summon my armour, Ras.”

Rasalas gave a frustrated look, but flicked his hand at the king, and he suddenly found himself dressed in his armour.

“We'll get that sorted one way or another.”

“If we are ready,” said Arthur, “Let us go, and dispense with those considered enemies of the crown in perpetuity.”

“Remember, make— _AAAAAH_!” Rasalas cried out, feeling as though his scar were about to split open from the pain. “He... he's coming. To Hogwarts. Let—let's go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Voldemort launches an assault on the school, leading to a frightening discovery..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Apologies that this was so brief. I hate writing combat scenes. I really do. This chapter felt like pulling teeth. Now, a little secret... I now know where this is going, or more specifically, where the device came from. Hints to come in the near future. I had written four chapters involving the... well, new world or whatever, then ended up scrapping the whole thing, deciding to stay focused on current events and not throwing another universe at you guys. Good god, how the plot bunnies come at me sometimes, it's infuriating._


	48. The Battle of Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _SUMMARY: Voldemort launches an assault on the school, leading to a frightening discovery..._
> 
> _WARNING: Character death._

**311\. THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS  
April, 2007**

> _“The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies.”_

  
_\- Napoleon Bonaparte_   


* * *

Only moments after the group stepped through the door leading into the guest suite at Hogwarts, Rasalas received warnings from the school's wards. Assailants approaching from three different directions, the bulk of them approaching from Hogsmeade.

“What's our priority?” Arthur questioned.

“Hogwarts, where is the headmaster?”

“In his office,” came the answer.

“Then that's where we're headed.”

“We will likely face the bulk of the Dark Lord's forces,” said Marcus, as they stepped out into the deserted corridor.

“So be it. I warned him last time I spoke to him, that should he pull a stunt like this... it ends here. And a point I stress, we take out as many of his sycophant followers,” Rasalas declared, “I'll worry about dealing with the remnants after.”

“He's... bought the farm,” said Accolon.

That earned a vicious smirk from Rasalas. “Oh yeah. I'll say it again. It ends today.”

“Mr. Flint... will you be at risk, fighting alongside us?” questioned Arthur.

“I'm at risk no matter where I am, sire. If I'm killed in the fight... at least I'll be free from this, not having to watch my back, not having bouts of pain being sent through the dark mark.”

“That happen a lot?” Brady wondered, as they hurried through the corridors toward the main stairwell.

“When the Dark Lord expressed his displeasure at something, yes,” Marcus answered, scowling, “It's been much less so in the sanctuary.”

“The wards do limit such influences, am I correct?” Accolon questioned.

“That is true,” Rasalas agreed, “Though not completely. Marcus and I share an unusual link to Voldemort... formed through different means, but yet having the same result. I don't think there's too many things that would completely negate the connection. Hell, I was at Camelot in April last year, and well... most of you remember how _that_ turned out.”

“Such a thing, it is not natural,” said Accolon.

“And you guys all know that.”

They arrived at the stone gargoyle which guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office. Rasalas didn't have to say a word, as the statue was already rotating to reveal the spiral staircase, and they hurried up, to find the door already opening.

“Sir Rasalas, Sir Brady... and...” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, seeing the number of people following behind.

“Sure hope you have the Order on the way, professor. He's coming from three fronts—Hogsmeade, the dark forest, and the Black lake.”

“You are certain?”

“Professor. I have access to the wards, same as you,” said Rasalas, “Don't question my intel.”

“The defence club somehow became aware of the threat and are presently meeting in the Room of Requirement. As much as they might like to join the fight—”

“You evacuatin' the school?” Brady questioned.

“The heads of the houses are overseeing it presently.”

“Have the defence club provide extra protection at your evacuation points,” said Arthur, “They will participate, but be less likely to fall in harm's way.”

“So we'll need people to watch the hospital wing, and the chambers of all four houses. What are the rest of the professors doing?”

“Moving to protect the castle,” Dumbledore answered, “They do know a thing or two about magic, you see.”

Rasalas rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Touche, sir. Uh... right. The main attack force will reach the main gates in about ten minutes, this according to Hogwarts herself and... this...” he gestured to his infamous scar.

“Sir Rasalas, there is something you need—”

Rasalas let out a hiss, feeling pain balloon from his forehead. “He's coming. Professor, I don't have time for any foolish words or other rubbish. What I do need, is your help protecting the school.”

“And you shall have it. But I must have a word with you when this is concluded. Know that this very well may not be the end of Tom.”

Rasalas gave a stony expression. “We'll see, now, won't we?”

“How strong are is the force we face?” Arthur questioned.

“A thousand or more. And the wards aren't able to tell me what it is exactly coming from the dark forest, save for them being a great number.”

“Acromantula,” George guessed.

Rasalas gave a grim nod. “You two, go to the Room of Requirement. My instructions for the Defence Club: help protect the evacuation points. Hospital wing, Professor Sprout's office, Professor McGonagall's office, Professor Snape's office, and Professor Flitwick's office.”

“They will need instructions when the evacuation is concluded,” said Arthur.

“They will then follow their classmates through the floo network to safety. I would see my friends safe, rather than in harm's way.”

“I will assist Professor Snape,” said Marcus, “Slytherins can be an unruly lot.”

Rasalas rolled his eyes. “And you were one of them. Be safe.”

Marcus hurried off, with the twins right behind him.

He frowned a moment. “Uh. Right. Rest of us... we... we need to go down to the entry hall.”

“What for?” Brady asked.

“The castle just told me something about the defensive parts of the wards.”

“Piertotum Locomotor,” Dumbledore guessed.

Rasalas gave a nod. “Fawkes.”

With a blaze of flames, Fawkes made his appearance, and fluttered down to rest on Rasalas' outstretched arm.

“Fawkes, we need you to give all of us a lift down to the entry hall. Can you do that?”

The phoenix let out a single trill, before offering his tail feathers.

“Right. So everyone link hands. Don't let go until we land.”

“It works like a port key then,” said Accolon.

“Similar, yeah.”

With everyone linked together, Rasalas gripped Fawkes' tail feathers, and the group vanished in a flash of flames.

They arrived only a moment later in the mostly empty entry hall.

“All right, lady Hogwarts. How does this work?”

“It would be best for his majesty to cast the spell,” came the answer.

“My skill in the arts is somewhat lacking, my lady,” said Arthur, sounding frustrated.

“It is not raw strength in need here, your majesty, rather the power channeled through Excalibur. Place the point of the blade at the centre of the great seal, and speak the words, _Piertotum Locomotor_. It will awaken one of the major castle defences. Headmaster, you must raise the defensive wards.”

The castle's voice sounded somewhat colder as she addressed Dumbledore.

Arthur produced Excalibur, and placed the tip of it at the centre of the Hogwarts seal. “ _Piertotum... Locomotor_ !”

Even in the magically-charged environment, it was hard not to feel the surge of magic radiate outward, with a series of clunks and clanks ringing out. Rasalas and his party were unsure what was happening, at least until a suit of armour appeared on the nearby landing, with a few others appearing shortly thereafter.

“Enemies are at the gates,” said Arthur, as he re-sheathed Excalibur, “Divide up into two divisions. Division one is to assume defensive positions and provide protection for the castle. The second division shall join us at the front line and assist in driving off the enemy.”

“Knights. Acromantula approach from the dark forest. A priority is keeping them at bay. They can do structural damage to the castle,” said Rasalas, as more and more statues and suits of armour continued to gather.

“Damn, there's a lot of 'em,” said Brady.

“And here I always thought they were just for decoration,” said Bill, shaking his head.

“Indeed. Mr. Weasley, I could use your help with the protections,” said Dumbledore.

“Lord Peverell!”

Rasalas turned slightly, to see a group of students coming from the main stairwell.

“Why aren't you guys leaving with the rest?”

“We're of age,” answered one of them, “We're all seventh years. We want to help!”

“They can defend the battlements,” Accolon suggested, “There is ample cover, no?”

“More than enough,” Dumbledore agreed, “All of you do be careful.”

Rasalas furrowed his brows. Dumbledore allowing the students to participate? Whatever happened to, 'It's not safe', or, 'You have to be protected'? No matter. Best not look a gift-horse in the mouth and all that.

“Let's finish shoring up the wards.”

Moments later, Rasalas and his party, along with Dumbledore, stood outside in the courtyard.

“Mr. Weasley and those able, follow my lead.” The headmaster raised his wand above his head, intoning, “ _Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum_.”

As he spoke each spell, a turquoise bolt of magic shot into the overcast sky.

Bill then stepped forward, joining the headmaster's casting, and his spell work seemed to join up with the older wizard's, sending a stream of energy skyward. Rasalas quickly understood what was happening: they were forming an immense dome-like shield that would cover the school.

“Brady and Accolon. I need you guys to amplify my spells once I start casting.”

“Ain't the first time.”

Rasalas raised a hand skyward. The castle had explained to him the purpose of the three spells, but also gave suggestions on a few others. To cast them though? He understood purpose behind only one other. “All right.  _Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum. Protego Horribilis._ ”

Brady and Accolon at once cupped their hands together, projecting deep blue-shaded beams of energy toward Rasalas, as he continued to cast the spells. With the boosted energy, the channel of turquoise energy surging skyward, compared to that of Bill and Dumbledore, was like comparing the output from a firehose to that of a kitchen faucet.

Though Dumbledore was unable to comment, he was once again held in awe at the young wizard—no, agent of Avalon. Though he was casting modern spells, they were backed by Avalon magic, never mind the boost being supplied by his companions. In a real test of magical prowess, the old wizard knew it was very likely he would come out on the short end. Did he  _really_ want to continue to be at odds with him?

The honest answer: no. Rasalas would lead their world one day—Merlin, he virtually already was! He had the unwavering support of the Canadian ministry since practically the beginning—though it was likely his interference at the Sawyer property a year and a half ago cemented it; never mind the support of Amelia Bones... no, being at odds with the Peverell heir would only end in ruin.

The massive surge in energy helped the shimmering protective dome take shape in a matter of minutes. Finally, the spell casting ceased, as the dome at last made contact with the ground.

“Most impressive,” said Arthur.

“It should keep them at bay while we formulate a defensive plan,” said Dumbledore. “The Order should be through the floo shortly. Professor McGonagall is expecting them.”

“With the connection busy with those evacuating? How will that work?” Accolon wondered.

“Someone will make a fire call first,” said Rasalas. “I'm guessing Professor McGonagall is keeping the fire clear for a minute or so at a time.”

“It is so,” said Dumbledore.

“The plan is this,” said Rasalas, “Help me clear a path to Voldemort, and keep them off me while I deal with him. And. No matter what. Make your shots count. They don't get up. End of story.

“They made their choices when they accepted the dark mark. I'll seal their magic, one by one, those that survive, whether on authority of the Goddess, or as _Pater Familias_ of either Black or Peverell. Voldemort and his Death Eaters are finished. _Today_.”

“Sir Rasalas...” Dumbledore began to protest, as they stepped out onto the castle grounds, leaving the courtyard behind them.

“Professor, they are enemies of the state, enemies of the crown,” said Arthur, stonily, “Sir Rasalas is being merciful. In his place, I would order their lives forfeit.”

“Just as they are enemies of the Goddess and all she stands for,” said Rasalas, “We can do without their poison. And realize, that's exactly what they are— AAAAH!”

It might as well been a fire-brand shoved into his cursed scar.

“He... he's—”

_BOOOOOM_ . The blast shook the ground, creating a momentary miniature sun down toward the main gate. That was joined instantly by the castle's wards going haywire. No shit, considering the protection they'd erected only minutes prior, had just been shredded into a million pieces. The dome was collapsing, the pieces fluttering down like burning bits of paper.

“They did something similar at the Sawyers',” Rasalas muttered.

“GET DOWN!” Brady shouted, and Rasalas found himself dragged to the ground, as several pieces of debris came hurtling toward them. Dumbledore flicked his wand, sending most of it off in another direction—namely toward the Black lake. A few pieces still passed overhead, slamming into the outside of the courtyard wall.

“Bloody hell... pieces of the gate... I think,” Rasalas muttered, as they scrambled back to their feet.

“Look there,” said Accolon, pointing toward the lake. The group could see a group of brooms approaching from the far side.

“Accolon, with me,” said Brady, producing his broom. “Y'all head for the gate, we'll be there when we're done.”

“Be careful,” said Arthur, before Rasalas had the chance. Brady mounted the broom, with Accolon quickly climbing on behind, and they lifted off.

“Seriously hope this is the last encore for the day,” Rasalas muttered, as the group set off for the gate. It was obvious that was were the main force of the assault had gathered.

“I would more aptly describe it as the main course, Sir Rasalas,” said Arthur.

“Can I send it back? I lost my appetite.”

“If only it were that easy.”

“Professor! Sir Rasalas!”

Arthur, Rasalas, and Dumbledore turned to find a group of witches and wizards hurrying to catch up: members of the Order of the Phoenix, along with a number of others. That coincided with the arrival of part of the teaching staff. Rasalas noted that Professor Snape was not included—not that he was concerned.

“We heard the explosion. What happened?” Flitwick asked.

“The Death Eaters deployed a ward-busting bomb of some sort,” said Rasalas, “Shattered the protective shield, crashed several other wards, they're recharging though slowly. Main assault's coming from the main gate. One attack force coming from the dark forest, while the other—”

He glanced toward the Black lake in time to see a storm of energy lash out, engulfing a group of witches and wizards approaching on brooms. Only moments later, a torrent of water seemed to surge up from the lake itself, engulfing the remainder.

“The other appears to be neutralized,” said Arthur, “Let us meet the enemy.”

“Your majesty, are you sure it's wise to be joining the fight here?” McGonagall questioned, concerned.

“I am more than capable, Professor, though I do appreciate the concern. Though separated by fourteen hundred years, this is still Britannia, and your enemies become mine. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” McGonagall agreed.

“Those of you who are not aware, this is Arthur, high king of Britain. The nature of him being present is not up for discussion, and disclosure of his presence is forever forbidden,” said Rasalas, “This by command of Avalon and the goddess. So mote it be.”

The group of Order members could feel the ambient magic momentarily surge around them, and knew that the young wizard's words were backed by ancient magic—a secrecy charm no one outside of the caster could ever counter.

“Right. Your help is appreciated, your majesty,” said Shacklebolt. “What's the plan?”

“You'll have to ask Sir Rasalas, it's his lead,” Arthur answered.

The Order members all looked to Dumbledore, who gave a firm nod of agreement. Now, they could see the invasion force, which had pushed onto the grounds. The main gates had been all but obliterated from the explosion, and the air was still filled with bits of burning paper-like material—the remnants of the protective dome.

The enemy numbered close to a thousand, if Rasalas had to guess. The estimate of the castle hadn't been far off. All of them wore dark cloaks and silvery masks. An acid-green shaded dome had been erected at the rear of the contingent, and Rasalas assumed Voldemort stood inside of it. It was no stretch of the imagination that busting through the shield would be no small chore.

“Ras. We got more company,” came Brady's voice. He was close, but remained hidden.

“Where?”

“From the school.”

Everyone turned to see a large group of witches and wizards on brooms, flying from the courtyard. They wore crimson robes: Aurors.

“Sir Rasalas,” said one of them, “Mr. Sawyer and his friend told us what's going on. We're here to help. Auror Jackson will be along soon as he can.”

“No. They need to stay at the Sawyers,” said Rasalas, gesturing at the ground, producing his Patronus. To the ghostly stag, he spoke, “Auror Jackson. Urgent. You and contingent remain at Sawyers, keep protection presence.” Then, “To Auror Jackson, urgent.”

As the ghostly animal sped off toward the castle, Shacklebolt spoke up, saying, “Fudge will have words about this.”

Rasalas gave Shacklebolt a frosty look. “And Fudge can go get bent for all I care! I don't see any English Aurors here, 'least not in an official capacity. And he still has to answer for—”

The group was forced to duck, while the Aurors threw up strong shields, to deflect a barrage of dangerous spells unleashed by the enemy. The Aurors then split into two units, flanking left and right.

“Let us break into three units,” said Arthur, “The primary objective being to clear a path to the priority target.”

Rasalas took over, saying, “Once there, it will be up to myself, Brady, and Accolon, being skilled in Avalon magic. Everyone else, you are to keep Voldemort's followers busy. By that I mean take them down so they don't get up. No kid gloves here, they're in our back yard, this ends here and now.”

Dumbledore gave a pained sigh, but gave a nod. It truly was the younger wizard's show, as much as the headmaster disliked it. Once again, it was proven graphically, the sort of support Rasalas commanded, with a contingent of Canadian Aurors showing up.

His musings were interrupted, seeing a blur of limbs appear at the edge of Hogsmeade: more Aurors.

“More friends, Sir Rasalas?” questioned Hestia Jones.

“I guess. Glad for the support though. Come on, let's do this.”

The contingent of Canadian Aurors were already making their presence felt, launching attacks from the air. They worked in pairs, one providing defensive shielding, while the other used offensive spells against the enemy. Rather effective, perhaps better than two people sharing a broom.

The Aurors who had landed behind, meanwhile, launched a surprise attack of their own, sending the Death Eaters' right flank into chaos, as they now faced enemy forces from three sides.

Brady and Accolon, being still aloft, continued to launch their own assault on the left flank. Their creative use of spells brought chaos to the Death Eaters. Some found themselves toppled onto the grass and then ensnared by it, the growth twisting and transforming into bindings with the strength of steel. Others had been pelted by baseball-sized stones and knocked silly or worse, while others still, being distracted by the unseen assault, fell prey to the Aurors' own spell work. In most cases, the victim was put out of the fight for good.

However, even with the firepower being brought to bear by the Aurors and the defenders, it didn't lessen the danger the Death Eaters posed. At least a third of the spells being used were either killing curses or torture curses. Rasalas winced, seeing an Auror felled from his broom by the torture curse. Only a moment later, another fell, this from the killing curse.

_BOOOOM_. Another powerful explosion shook the ground, sending debris skyward. Behind the right flank, right where... right where the second contingent of Aurors had been.

“Might as well be an artillery shell,” someone muttered.

“Death Eaters using—”

Rasalas found himself hauled to the ground, as a green bolt of magic sailed overhead. He scrambled back to his feet, only to see Arthur hold Excalibur in front of him, deflecting another killing curse.

“How... what... that should be impossible!”

“I trusted the goddess, Rasalas,” Arthur answered, “Excalibur is a tool of Avalon, far stronger than that of this world, is it not?”

“All right, I concede point. But still...”

“Worst thing, it would have been destroyed.”

“Or perhaps, made stronger,” said Dumbledore, “It is not unlike another artefact young Sir Rasalas already knows.”

“The sword of Gryffindor,” Rasalas remembered, as they pressed on.

“He still deflected a killing curse with a sword!” said another Order member, in awe, “That shouldn't—”

He fell to the ground, mouth open, as if he were momentarily frozen.

Rasalas cursed under his breath, and thrust a hand out, creating a storm of dust, sand, and small debris. It would make it more difficult for spells to get through, but... that worked both ways. No matter, it would keep them busy, and likely cause disorientation and confusion.

“ _Is that your best, P-Peverell?!_ ” came an amplified voice, before a strong wind seemed to blast the dust and debris off toward the Black lake. The left Auror contingent, along with Brady and Accolon, had to climb to a higher altitude to stay clear of it.

Now, the attacking force surged forward, a storm of deadly spells preceding them. They closed the distance with frightening speed, and now the battle became one fought at close quarters.

“So much for the plan,” Rasalas muttered, as he dispatched a pair of heavy-set wizards who got too close.

“I have never seen a plan remain intact on the battlefield,” said Arthur, as he pulled his blade from the chest of a fallen Death Eater. The wound seemed to hiss and bubble a green shade, and Rasalas shuddered at the implication: Excalibur had been imbued with the power of the killing curse—tainted, more like it. No different than Gryffindor's sword being tainted with Basilisk venom.

* * *

Brady and Accolon now had to be more careful with their spells, given the close-quarters combat. Still, they proved effective, picking off enemies on the fringe, plucking them up, and sending them sky-high. Most of them fell to their deaths, but a few had both the agility and the nerve to simply Apparate away.

“Perhaps we should adjust our tactics,” said Accolon, “Rasalas will not be pleased if many escape.”

“No shit—” Brady dove sharply, to avoid a cluster of killing curses, and with a sweep of the hand, had them encased in stone from the neck down.

“Perhaps they should be left as a monument,” said Accolon, dryly.

“Sure ain't goin' nowhere—fuck, what's that?!”

A cloud of smoke could be seen from the edge of the Dark Forest, closer to the castle. Brady pushed down on his broom, and made a track for it.

“The third front,” said Accolon, “Perhaps these are the spiders Mr. Weasley spoke about.”

“Only third on my list,” Brady muttered.

“A list of what?”

“Things I hate.”

“I see.”

“Snakes, bats, and spiders.”

Arriving at the scene, they found a group of seventh year students, Professor Snape, Marcus, and some of the suits of armour, in thick against a horde of Acromantula. Brady visually shuddered at the sight.

“Jesus Christ.”

“We set them alight, as the others have already attempted,” Accolon suggested.

Brady needed no further urging, but slashed his hand harshly toward the ground, sending a torrent of fire at the target, a particularly large Acromantula. Its shrieks were pitiful as it thrashed about, instantly engulfed by the flames.

Accolon then followed suit, setting a second, large spider alight, resulting in an equal reaction. The smaller spiders all began clicking and clacking, beginning to retreat.

“They're retreatin'.”

“Sir Brady, Sir Accolon. We couldn't have asked for better timing,” said Marcus.

“The spiders will not return,” said Accolon.

“We will then return to the castle,” said Snape.

“As we will then return to the battle.”

“How does it go?” questioned one of the students.

“We're still standin',” said Brady.

“And we will continue to do so. Remain firm, all of you,” said Accolon, as Brady pointed the broom back toward Hogsmeade. “We will be victorious, one way or another.”

Returning to the main battle, they found it much more evenly-matched, with the defenders beginning to get the upper hand. Dumbledore was commanding a long strand of fire by the looks of it, and clearly, a number of Death Eaters had suffered from it, languishing with terrible burns. A few Order members were going around, collecting the wands off of the injured and stunning them—smart move. Even revived, they would be little use without a wand.

Most of the Aurors had left their brooms, and now fought on the ground, and now Brady weighed his options. Continue to fight from the air, or join Rasalas and Arthur on the ground?

“Accolon. Do we stay up here, or land?”

“Remain aloft for a little while longer,” Accolon answered, “Once Rasalas breaks through the line, we then join them.”

“All right, sounds good.”

Rasalas, meanwhile, continued to work with Arthur and a few Order members at his side. Though Arthur wasn't strong magically, he made his shots count, being able to do enough that an enemy became disoriented and confused, giving him enough time to finish them off with Excalibur. Negating someone's magical ability brought them down to his ability, and make no mistake, Arthur was more than skilled with a sword.

_FWWWT_. A charging Death Eater suddenly collapsed, an arrow now piercing his chest. What the hell?!

“Ras! More company, friendly I think!” yelled Brady.

“Centaurs,” said Moody, from Arthur's right, “'bout time they lend a hand.”

“With how the ministry treats them? Surprised they're not shooting at _us_ instead!” another Order member muttered, as he stunned another Death Eater that was getting too close.

“ _AVADA KED—_ ”

The Death Eater found herself encased in some sort of sticky goop, and a moment later, Arthur plunged Excalibur into her chest.

“How close are we?”

“Twenty yards,” came Brady's answer. He was just above them, then.

“Close. Good, keep at it.”

Now, a half-dozen Death Eaters collapsed, arrows piercing their bodies. The Centaurs were extremely good shots, this much was clear.

“Good thing they're on our side.”

Rasalas glanced back to find a few Aurors had caught up.

“Lord Peverell, I'm Tony Augustino, U.S. Department of Magic.”

Rasalas again glanced back, noting the pin on the Auror's robes.

“Glad you're here, sir.”

“You have lost numbers in the battle,” said Arthur.

“A few, yes,” the Auror agreed, “We knew—” he hastily produced a shield, deflecting a curse. “We knew what we might be facing. And I note that the English Auror department chooses not to show up. I would be asking why.”

“And we will be,” said Rasalas, as he continued to dispatch enemies.

“No matter, the people of magical England appreciate the support of our American friends,” said Moody. “How did—” Now it was Moody's turn to block a storm of deadly spells aimed for the group. Rasalas retaliated by entombing the attackers in ice. Their last thoughts were desperate yearning for warmth.

“ _No!_ ” came an amplified voice, “ _Do not flee like the field mouse. Should you do so, you will wish for death when I am finished with you!_ ”

“He's afraid,” Rasalas grinned. He touched his finger to his throat, and began making chicken noises, but was then forced to stop and take cover, as a dozen killing curses were aimed at him.

“Ras. Taunts don' help none,” came Brady's voice.

“We're getting the upper hand,” came Accolon's voice, “We number a third more.”

“We're nearly through,” said Brady.

That news reinforced Rasalas' resolve. With renewed vigor, he unleashed another storm of dust and debris. This time, he added an offensive layer which sought out the enemy, a literal storm of tiny needles. And this time, when Voldemort attempted to clear the threat, the cloud soared up into the air, before resettling on the battlefield.

“Merlin your spell work is impressive,” said Moody.

“It's been a lot of work and a lot of training.”

“Aye, it always—”

He never finished, collapsing to the ground, face frozen in mid-sentence. The Death Eater responsible was felled only a second later from the air—whether by Accolon or Brady it was unknown.

Rasalas refocused. There would be time for grieving and mourning later on. For now... he could see the spherical shield surrounding the Dark Lord. And indeed, there seemed to be fewer and fewer enemies... the fight was winding down.

_BOOOOM_. Another powerful explosion shook the battlefield, and Rasalas caught a glimpse of not only Aurors and Order members, but Death Eaters also being sent flying.

“Totally mad, willing to sacrifice his own forces to eliminate some of ours.”

“It does not lend credibility to his sanity,” Arthur agreed.

“C'mon, Harry, the Dark Lord hasn't been sane in a long time,” said Bill.

“Agreed. C'mon, we're nearly there.”

That was no sooner said, when the last line of enemies were frozen, entombed, or otherwise incapacitated from above. Now, both Brady and Accolon appeared on foot, with Brady stowing his broom in his pouch.

“Arthur, stay with Bill and the others. Keep the Death Eaters from interrupting while we figure out what sort of barrier we're dealing with,” said Rasalas.

“I wish you luck,” Voldemort mocked, “You might wield most unusual magic, but you have not my age nor my knowledge.”

Rasalas said nothing, but began probing the field, exactly as he'd done at the ministry back in January.

“Careful, Ras,” Brady warned.

“He knows what we're doing. See... thing is, all magical constructs are susceptible to higher forms of energy. It's just identifying the nature of the field. It's ward-based... so we could just overload it, much like he did earlier, both here at Hogwarts, and at the Sawyers'... but that might give Tom a chance to escape. I'd rather not that sort of thing happen. Chasing after him and all that rot. No, I'd rather this be done with here.”

“Anti-Apparition ward,” Accolon suggested.

“It will interfere with our allies. Wait. I might know of something. Bill! Arthur!!”

Bill and Arthur hurried over to join Rasalas and the others.

“What is it?”

“Arthur, I want you to stab the barrier with Excalibur. If it works as expected, Bill, I want you to Apparate Arthur to the other side of the battlefield and keep him safe—”

The five of them were forced to duck, as the Dark Lord unleashed a storm of curses, all of them lethal. He then followed it up with a killing curse, which narrowly missed Arthur. Angry, Arthur drew Excalibur and slashed it at the acid-green dome.

It was as if a large pane of glass had been shattered, as the dome rippled violently and collapsed. The group were once again forced to protect against a fury of spells, while Voldemort attempted to Disapparate—only to learn he could not. Now, he faced off against Rasalas and his allies, wand brandished firmly in his hand.

“Well then. Looks like someone else beat us to the punch,” said Rasalas, as he erected a cage of his own around them. “I warned you, Tom. I warned you, clearly, to stay away from Hogwarts. Yet, you chose to ignore said warning. Your followers are being ended, each and every one of them. Today. And you, yourself. This all ends. Here and now.”

Voldemort laughed, though it sounded hollow. “You cannot completely erase that which I have done, Sir Rasalas. Even should you manage to do away with me, there are those who will follow my lead, rise up and carry on my work.

“Unlike when I attacked your parents all those years ago, I have taken many steps to ensure without question, my plans will still move forward.”

“We will see, Tom. We will see—”

“AVADA KEDAVRA!!”

Rasalas flung up a hand, unleashing a powerful banishing spell, which collided with the killing curse. It was another sound of breaking glass, as the two spells cancelled each other out and dissipated.

“Insolent boy! AVADA KEDAVRA!”

CRASH.

All the while, Rasalas could feel both Accolon and Brady, summoning up the earth magic around them. Oh, this was going to be precious.

“C'mon, Tom, you can do better than that,” Rasalas mocked, “The killing curse, that all you know?”

“CRUCIO!”

CRASH.

“Still believe your magic is more powerful than Avalon magic?”

The surge of magic came out of left field, lifting the Dark Lord off his feet, sending him skyward. With the anti-apparition barrier in place, there was nowhere to go, and for the first time in a long time, Voldemort truly felt hopeless. Great Merlin, the power carrying him aloft was powerful... intoxicating, even...

Suddenly, he was falling, the ground was coming up way too fast, do something! His mind screamed—

“You have done terrible things, Tom Marvolo Riddle,” came a voice. He opened his eyes, to find Rasalas, Arthur, Brady, Accolon, and Bill standing over him. Arthur held his sword, point down, and Rasalas was speaking.

“By the will of the goddess, I do this thing to restore balance, to give our world hope. Anything you would say to us, or the goddess?”

“I will not be ended, P-Peverell. Not by you, not by your followers, not by the goddess,” Voldemort spat.

“Very well.”

“Know this, Tom Riddle,” said Arthur, “I declare you and your followers, and any who might follow your doctrine, to be forever an enemy of the crown in perpetuity. That any law-abiding subject shall carry with them the power to dispatch with your kind, now until eternity.

“Lord Peverell... Sir Rasalas, the deed is yours,” said Arthur, passing Excalibur handle-first to the young knight.

“Tom, may your soul find redemption in its next great adventure.”

With that, Rasalas pressed the blade into the Dark Lord's chest—and collapsed, as his scar burst open, the pain being a searing-hot fire-brand.

* * *

The battlefield was gone, replaced by a dark void, at least until his feet touched what he assumed was the ground. He then felt immense pressure on the mental barriers erected in his mind... what the hell?! It abruptly stopped, only to return, perhaps stronger. And then...

“Well, well, well,” came Voldemort's voice, before a ghostly figure began to form in Rasalas' peripheral vision. “It seems, P-P-Potter... you have once again underestimated the true power I wield.”

“Aaaah!!” Rasalas shouted, as his mind felt about ready to explode, the pressure on his defences being near unbearable.

“How extraordinary... an extra layer of protection I had not counted on,” Voldemort mused, thoughtfully. “I wonder, if the old man ever suspected.

“No matter, Harry. I know now, that for as long as you shall survive, I shall be right along side of you. Of course, I will have to be a little more careful with certain things. But know, Harry. Before all is said and done... I will take everything from you.”

The pain was reaching unbearable levels, as the Dark Lord continued to hammer away at the defences around his memory. If he should break through... so many things... secrets... things that would make Voldemort far more dangerous than he was now...

His friends, those he loved... they would be in far greater danger than ever before. Arthur... Brady... Ron, Hermione... Ryan, Aaron... those that mattered so much...

Voldemort let out a hiss, and the pain suddenly vanished. Without the unbearable pain, Rasalas quickly connected the dots. Of course. Conceived through a love potion, Tom couldn't fathom the meaning of love. He considered it a weakness, rather than a strength.

Rasalas simply smiled. “No, Tom, it is you who have underestimated my true power. You see love as being a weakness, something to be scorned and thrown by the wayside. You'll never know what true love and companionship means, and for that, I truly feel sorry for you.”

He smiled again, letting the image of both Brady and Arthur fill his head, and Voldemort hissed again, as the emotion swirled around Rasalas' mind. More images followed, as Rasalas again spoke, “I am loved and blessed many times over, blessed and loved by the goddess herself, over and above the love and protection given by my mother.”

Rasalas felt something shift, as a new voice joined the conversation.

“Begone, Tom Marvolo Riddle, you have no place in the mind and body of my servant!”

“And in what way shall you back up your words?” Voldemort mocked, only to be blown sideways by an unseen force.

“Begone, Tom. You won't like the goddess when she's angry... I mean, you've seen a volcano, right? Or a hurricane? You really want to face her in all her terrible glory? I'm sure she would like the opportunity, y'know.”

The shade of Voldemort wavered a moment, before finally vanishing.

“Y...your grace?”

“Be well, young Rasalas, but know the journey is not yet complete.”

“Yeah, uh, understatement.”

“As soon as you are able, seek out Viviane. She will likely have solutions to the complication.”

“Were... were you aware of this?”

“Yes, I was. But before you ask, I must tell you, I cannot interfere. This is why you were not made aware of it, and it is also why I cannot remove it.”

Rasalas let out a frustrated sigh. “Bet Dumbledore knew, too.”

“He did have his suspicions. Do not be harsh with him, he wanted to be certain before delivering such news.”

“I... I guess. I, uh... what happens now?”

“Just relax your mind, and the world will return to you.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“Just relax. All will be well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Fallout from the battle on a number of fronts..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: (Groans) I really hate battle scenes. But, uh, yeah, there it is. But obviously, Voldemort is not gone, much to Rasalas/Harry's chegrin. However, Voldemort's not all that well-off, considering he's again reduced to shade-form, and trying to possess Ras/Harry didn't go all that well. He might try again, but... we'll see, now, won't we?_


	49. Funeral II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fallout from the battle on a number of fronts..._

**310\. FUNERAL II  
April, 2007**

> “ _Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.”_

  
_\- Quintus Ennius_   


* * *

The world was slowly coming back into focus. No surprise, he found Arthur, Brady, Accolon, Dumbledore, and a few others kneeling beside him.

“Ras? Can you hear me?” Arthur questioned.

“Yeah.”

“Y'all right?”

“Will be.”

“What happened to you?” Accolon asked, “You simply collapsed after piercing him with Excalibur.”

“Voldemort. He's not gone.”

“As you have now discovered, and as I have suspected and feared, Tom has made an unintentional Horcrux,” said Dumbledore.

“But... how?”

“Perhaps, this is a discussion better held in a more secure location,” said Accolon.

“Indeed. Though—” Dumbledore began, but Rasalas waved him off.

“Help me up so I can summon Fawkes and return us to your office, Professor.”

Minutes later, Rasalas and his party once again joined Dumbledore in his office. Rasalas drew out the memory of his mental discussion with the Dark Lord and the goddess, and they watched it in the headmaster's pensieve. It was rather brief, but confirmed the headmaster's suspicions.

Rasalas let out a frustrated sigh. “How though? How is it he managed to do this? I mean, Nagini being one thing, but... a human being?”

“On the night Tom tried to kill you, your mother sacrificed her own life to protect you. This much you know.”

“Yeah. For the most part.”

“When Tom cast the killing curse on you, it rebounded, and a fragment of his soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building.”

“Me,” Rasalas finished.

“Guessin' that explains why he sees shit from Voldemort so much,” Brady guessed.

Dumbledore gave a nod. “Indeed, it has forged a connection young Sir Rasalas has never understood.”

“And as long as it exists, Voldemort cannot be truly destroyed,” said Arthur.

“Precisely put,” said Dumbledore.

“So Ras has to die,” said Brady. It was more of a whisper, as if he were afraid to give voice to the thought.

“If Lady Viviane cannot supply an alternate solution, then very likely yes,” said Dumbledore, gravely.

Rasalas closed his eyes, and opened them again. “If that is what it takes... then so be it.”

“Trust Viviane,” said Arthur, softly, “I am certain she will have a solution. In the immediate term, we must contend with Voldemort's remaining forces. I know it has been said on numerous occasions, but it cannot be stressed enough: if left alone, his followers will continue to promote and execute his doctrine.

“Professor, there are men beyond redemption, as much as you might wish otherwise. No matter your reasoning, they are far more trouble than they are worth.”

“Our numbers are what is at stake, your majesty,” Dumbledore answered, “You understand there are few witches and wizards in existence, correct?”

“This is true, yes,” Arthur agreed.

“I would rather us go extinct, than for the bigotry and hatred to continue, professor,” Rasalas cut in, “Would you have someone like Belletrix Lestrange, out on the street, raising children, knowing what sort of mindset she had?”

“Well... there would be strict controls—”

“Men have a habit of discovering loopholes and ways to escape such conditions and controls,” said Arthur.

“As it stands, I want them all held in custody, being detained—”

“At my pleasure,” Arthur cut in, “They have committed acts against Britain and its people. Though my authority may be diminished here, it does carry some weight.”

Dumbledore gave a sad nod. Even diminished, Arthur did wield more than enough authority to see such an order carried out. The castle was all but shouting in his head, that he should follow the directive. How was it Rasalas was able to get in contact with him in the first place?

“I do have a question. How is it you are able to enter this world and this time as it is?”

“A very complex instrument we have in our possession,” Rasalas answered, “We've been using it since the end of April. And before you ask, no, I won't show it to you, because I still don't trust you. Even this much information, I'm taking a risk disclosing. How much I trust you in the future, depends on how you handle what you now know.

“Share this with ANYONE, and that's it. What very little trust I have, never mind the respect I have for you, will be gone. Out the window.

“Keep the matter quiet... prove to me that I can trust you... perhaps I might share more of the knowledge I have. Perhaps convince Lady Viviane to let you visit Avalon.

“See, professor, I did—and still do—have a lot of respect for you. I think at one time I might have seen you as a mentor, a grandfather figure—something I didn't have at the Dursleys. But shit you pulled a year and a half ago at the Sawyers... never mind the other rubbish... all of that damaged our relationship.

“Now you have to earn it back. You can do so by not working against me, but working alongside me. There are massive changes that have to be made in our world, if it's to survive. More, if it's to catch up with the modern world.”

“It is interesting to note, how both Canadian and American Aurors participated in the defence of your school, headmaster,” said Accolon, “Yet, not one English Auror joined the battle in any official capacity. That the security forces from foreign nations would provide aid... it was most certainly welcomed, but should not have been required.”

“Well put,” Arthur agreed, “Where _was_ Britain's magical security force, headmaster? Why did they not respond to a terrorist threat against its school?”

“It is a question I'm sure Madam Bones will be asking, your majesty,” said Dumbledore. “Cornelius, meanwhile, will be more concerned about foreign Aurors on our soil.”

“He makes an issue about it, he'll regret it,” said Rasalas, “I've been wanting to take a swipe at the useless windbag—though a small part of me is thankful for his meddling, without which, I wouldn't have made it to where we stand today.”

“In the long term, he will have to be replaced,” said Arthur, “Britain's magical community needs a leader who will truly act in its best interest, not pander to the whims of a few.”

“Exactly,” Rasalas agreed, “I mean, I can think right off, of a few more effective choices.”

“Madam Bones,” Dumbledore guessed.

“Or Madam Longbottom, even. Both of them have worked to improve our world, rather than hold it back.”

Rasalas seemed to think a moment, and rubbed the back of his head.

“Shit... uh... can we carry on this discussion later?”

Arthur frowned. “Are you unwell?”

“Hungry and feeling exhaustion,” Rasalas answered. “We just took on Voldemort, never mind the bulk of his henchmen here, after having faced his henchmen back at the Sawyers.”

“As it stands, there's another horrid conversation we'll be having,” said Bill, “Phil Sawyer was murdered in the shop by a similar explosion to the one which brought down the protective dome here. I'll be sharing a pensieve memory with the goblins, see if they have any insight.”

“We can carry on later, then,” said Dumbledore. “Please pass on my condolences to Mr. Sawyer and his mother. In the meantime, I'll ensure the ministry handles matters concerning the captured, appropriately.”

“I mean it, Professor. I'll be dealing with all of them personally. It's the only way we can move forward,” said Rasalas, as he got to his feet.

“You have my word.”

“Thank you.”

Dumbledore watched as Rasalas left, his party in tow. Working with the young wizard would be a challenge, that was for certain. He clearly had an agenda, and quite honestly, it was the best course of action—even if it did put the population's numbers at risk. Those who followed Tom, did so rather willingly, all convinced his doctrine was the right way, the better choice.

Meanwhile, three members of Rasalas' party had not been magical in the first place! Yet, they wielded magic on a scale not seen since—well, not since the time of Merlin—the time from which Arthur and Accolon came. It shot massive holes in the pureblood dogma.

Of course, another dear friend of Rasalas' also poked a bunch of holes in things. Miss Granger was constantly at or near the top of her class in most subjects, very much like Lily Potter had been a generation earlier. The argument that purebloods were better than halfbloods or muggleborn... it was pure fiction, and nothing more.

Perhaps, Dumbledore acknowledged, it was time for a little revolution in magical Britain, with the young Peverell heir as its spearhead. It was a little out of the headmaster's comfort zone, to be playing second-fiddle, but what the hey, he was still in the game. To be the champion's confidant and mentor? Working in the shadow, just as he always did? After all, there was a reason he'd turned down suggestions he run for minister of magic.

* * *

Returning to the sanctuary, they found the common room alive with people. All of the Weasley children were present, along with Hermione. Ryan and Aaron were gathered at a small table in a corner with Casey, and though nothing was being said, they held each other close. Both Mrs. Gibson and Corey had occupied another sofa, while Auror Jackson kept an eye on things. Cai and Bedwyr also stood watch in the parlour (though this was not necessary considering the durability of the doors).

Glancing into the dining room, Rasalas was momentarily surprised to find Kate present, along with several goblins, one of which being the head goblin. Where did Marcus get off to?

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, finally noticing.

“Is it over?” Ron wanted to know.

“For now. There... there's been a complication,” Rasalas answered.

“Did you beat him? Is he gone?” asked Ginny.

“Yeah, we beat him. Thing is, he's not gone for good. There's another Horcrux.”

“What?!”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, we know where and what it is,” said Arthur, “For now we are keeping that sort of information to ourselves until we determine best course of action.”

“Err... thanks...” said Rasalas.

“'an he's right,” Brady agreed, “Really gotta keep this one quiet, Ras.”

“Did... how many did we lose?” Aaron asked.

“They got Moody and a bunch of Aurors. Not sure about other people we know,” said Rasalas. “But... for now, it's over. Dumbledore and the Order are collecting the survivors and I'll be dealing with them personally.

“They used the same explosive device against the wards at Hogwarts that they used here at the shop. Ripped right through ancient wards like they were paper.”

“And as I said in Dumbledore's office, I'll be sharing a pensieve memory with the goblins, see if they have any insight into what it was,” said Bill, “The level of destruction unleashed was astounding.”

“I would bet on it being some kind of non-magical explosive tied in with it,” said Auror Jackson, “We can certainly create some powerful explosions by magic alone, but... we have a CSU on scene, checking for non-magical substances. I'll fire-call the office, have them dispatch a second CSU to Hogwarts. Where was it set off?”

“Near the main gate leading up from Hogsmeade,” Rasalas answered, “We were pelted with debris on the pathway just outside the courtyard, and if you know anything about the school, that's a hefty jog.”

Auror Jackson gave a nod. “I'll fire-call the office.”

While Auror Jackson moved to the fireplace, Rasalas approached the table where Ryan, Casey, and Aaron were sitting.

“I know words don't mean a whole lot, but... for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen—”

“Ras. D-d-don't blame yourself,” said Ryan.

“We don't blame you,” said Casey, “You couldn't have known.”

“But me being here, I—”

“It's not your fault. It's only circumstance, nothing more,” Casey persisted, “How many times have you said it yourself, that they threaten everyone?”

Rasalas let out a huff. “It doesn't make it any easier. You guys might as well be family, no different than Ron's family.

“If you need anything—”

“I think we're more than capable of looking after matters,” said Casey, warmly, “We are by no means destitute.”

“My offer still stands. You guys looked after me when my world turned upside down, so it's only fair.”

* * *

Cornelius Fudge was in a towering rage. With the ministry lockdown only just being lifted, he was only now learning about the events at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord had once again been defeated, thankfully, but... foreign Aurors on English soil, without official invite? Oh yes, the minister was furious. Likely Peverell's doing. Ancient title or not, Fudge still thought of him as a muckrucker and a nuisance, intent on causing as much chaos and damage as he could muster, upsetting the calm and stability of the community in the process.

He would fire-call the Americans later then. The Canadian ministry would hear from him first, maybe even launch an official complaint with the—

“Minister, I have both Canadian and American officials outside demanding to speak with you immediately,” 'Weatherby' announced, from the open door.

Fudge felt a stone drop into the pit of his stomach, and all of his bluster evaporated. This was going to be a most unpleasant meeting.

“Show them in.”

Percy left the doorway, but returned only a moment later, escorting two men. Neither of them wore robes, instead going with muggle clothing. Both were about average height, with one being perhaps a decade older than the other and slightly on the portly side.

“Minister, Bruce Edwin, Canadian office of international cooperation, and Ken Peachtree, his American counterpart. Mr. Edwin, Mr. Peachtree, Cornelius Fudge, our minister of magic.”

“Can I get you—”

“ _Stuff_ the platitudes, minister,” said Edwin, looking grave, “English magical terrorists blew up a non-magical place of business this morning, resulting in the death of its owner and four others who happened to be working there. The explosion was seen from the 401 Expressway by hundreds of non-magical people. Our office of misdirection, our office of magical catastrophes, and the Non-magical excuse committee are all busy trying to clean up a mess caused by YOUR problem, minister!

“This is official notice that we are filing complaints with the International Confederation of Wizards regarding this incident, seeing as you and the English magical government have no intention of dealing with the problem itself.”

“Now see here! I have my own cause for complaint,” Fudge hissed, “Why is it both Canadian and American Aurors entered sovereign English soil without invite!?”

“Ah, wondering how quickly you would raise issue with that,” said Peachtree, “Count yourself lucky we don't see fit to invade. Though the Secretary of Magic is at the White House right now, having tea with President Bartlett. A fresh set of eyes, right?”

Fudge was alarmed. “He wouldn't.”

“That's a bet you'd likely lose,” said Peachtree.

“And know that my ministry will go along with whatever the American department decides to do, given we share the same relationship as our non-magical counterpart,” said Edwin. “If anything, our government agencies work much more closely with one another than our non-magical counterparts.”

“Quite honestly, we're really tired of the load of crap being perpetrated by English witches and wizards,” said Peachtree, “We're gonna put an end to it, one way or another.”

“He-who-must-not-be-named—”

“Voldemort.”

“DON'T say his name!” Fudge hissed.

“Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort. I don't see him storming through the door,” said Peachtree, shaking his head, “Get a grip, Fudge. It's just a name and a ridiculous one at that.

“Now I know what you were about to say, so save your breath. The Aurors on scene have already filed preliminary reports, all describing Voldemort's death. It still doesn't excuse the incident from earlier this morning.”

“Both American and Canadian Aurors joined the battle at Hogwarts, to do the right thing. But a question was raised by Lord Peverell, that I now raise,” said Edwin, “Where were the English Aurors?”

“The ministry was in lockdown!” Fudge blurted, “How were we to know what was going on?!”

“That's absolute crap and you know it,” Edwin accused, “The school has numerous ways to get messages out. An attack on a school full of children, your magical future, and your ministry does absolutely nothing. I further question the mindset of your government, minister.”

“Now see here—”

“Oh, I think we see very well, Fudge,” said Peachtree, “England's magical government is in need of drastic changes. Otherwise, we might see a repeat of this morning's incident, with far more serious implications.”

“You have a duty not only to the magical people of the United Kingdom, but also to the global magical community as a whole. Both Ken and I believe you've failed on both roles. Within the next few days, we'll find out if others carry a similar opinion.”

“But...”

“Do us a favour, Fudge. Resign from office,” said Peachtree, “It'll save a fight, give England a better chance at correcting some of the damage.”

With that, both men simply left the office without another word, leaving a stunned Cornelius Fudge staring at their backs. Surely, they couldn't  _really_ have him impeached, right?

“But... but... I'm the _minister of magic_!” Fudge raged, to the empty room.

* * *

_April 3_

The subdued atmosphere from the previous afternoon had still not abated when everyone gathered at breakfast. After receiving the go-ahead from Rasalas, Ryan had created a room for his mother, knowing she wouldn't want to sleep in the house.

Marcus had returned late in the evening, reporting that the school had for the most part returned to normal, with students returning via floo powder. Some parents had elected to keep their children home for the time being, a large number of them being from Slytherin.

“W-w-we... we need to g-g-get back to Avalon,” said Ryan, as he picked at his plate. “M-ma, y-you should come too.”

“I don't know...”

“Such a visit could lift spirits,” said Accolon, “But know that the goddess shares your grief.”

That earned a brief smile from Casey, as she knew the knight spoke the truth. She gave a quiet nod, and turned back to her breakfast.

“While you visit with the goddess, Brady, Arthur and I will be meeting with Viviane,” said Rasalas.

The discussion was interrupted by a familiar whoosh from the common room, and a moment later, Kate entered, bringing a copy of the newspaper with her.

The upper part of the paper was taken up by a large photograph of the scene, which resembled a war zone—which was absolutely the truth, for it had been. A number of bodies were strewn across the grassy field, most of them by this point covered by a dark sheet. Aurors were still present, some of them escorting captured Death Eaters in magic-suppressing manacles, while others were speaking to witnesses.

  
  


_VOLDEMORT DEAD_

_Former Dark Lord destroyed during attack on Hogwarts_

_Hogsmeade, AWP: The self-proclaimed dark lord Voldemort was defeated for good yesterday by Rasalas Peverell nee Harry Potter, on the grounds of Hogwarts, after he and the bulk of his followers descended on the school._

_At time of print, it is still unknown as to what provoked the former dark lord to launch the attack against the school, but Lord Peverell and a number of his allies, which included most of the school's teaching staff, were able to mobilize and protect hundreds of students._

_In an extraordinary display of magical prowess, Lord Peverell and his allies were able to neutralize the strong number of enemies, and deal with the dark lord himself. According to numerous eyewitness accounts, Lord Peverell finished off the dark wizard using a sword, rather than raw magic—though there is no question the weapon was magical in nature, given the powerful surge of white energy which bloomed from it on penetration._

_The attack at the renowned magical school was the culmination of several attacks carried out across the wizarding world as a whole yesterday, which saw dozens of people, both of magical and non-magical backgrounds suffer casualties. Both the Canadian ministry of magic and the American department of magic were quick to send support, even as several incidents unfolded a little closer to home._

“ _It is the sworn duty of every witch and wizard in the service of the Crown, to uphold the law and protect the innocent,” said Jerry Young, head of the Canadian D.M.L.E., in a statement released late yesterday, “Tom Riddle's ilk brought terror and misery to our shores, and our involvement in the conflict at Hogwarts was simply a follow-up on the matter. If the English ministry of magic insists on pretending there is not a problem, we will only happily demonstrate otherwise, with perhaps further action coming in the near future...”_

_The American Department of Magic, meanwhile, released a statement which also condemned the English ministry's lackluster response to the incident. “The secretary for magic is meeting with advisers, both magical and mundane, discussing their options at this time,” said Ken Peachtree, the American head of International cooperation, in a statement also released late yesterday._

_As to the hero, young Lord Peverell, requests for a statement were declined as we went to print, though Kate Lewis, his solicitor, has passed along word that perhaps a statement might be released in the coming days, pending a more lengthy discussion. “Lord Peverell is well, but needing time to gather his thoughts and tend to personal matters, and asks for privacy.”_

_Full transcript of Mr. Young's remarks, p.3_

_Full transcript of Mr. Peachtree's remarks, p.3_

_War with the dark lord, time line, p.4_

_Changes coming for England? p.4_

_Editorial: is this really the end? Or a repeat of two years ago? p.14_

  
  


Rasalas let out a snort as he tossed the paper aside. “Privacy? Yeah, right. Thank the goddess for mail filters.”

Brady snatched the paper up, while Kate pulled up a seat.

“You will need to release an official statement,” she said, “Whether you like it or not...”

“Yeah, I know that. It... it's gonna have to wait. Even the shit with the captured Death Eaters, that all has to wait until we deal with matters closer to home.”

“And that's entirely up to you, Rasalas. Now, I do need to speak with Mr. Flint. The head goblin will be here in a few minutes—I hope you don't mind us using space here.”

“No, of course not. Uh... Marcus was up, but I think he went back to his room. All of us, meanwhile... we're on our way to Avalon shortly. We'll likely be gone for the day, but... if you need to get in contact, just send either Kreacher or Dobby.”

“It's unlikely that will be necessary,” Kate said, “We'll likely be days sorting through the names of captured Death Eaters. If you don't mind, I'd like to bring in a few interns.”

“I'll need to know their names so they can be added to the access list.”

“I'll speak with them first, so it'll likely be tomorrow.”

“How many did you guys capture?” Aaron asked.

“Hundreds,” said Brady, tossing the paper down. “Bastard came at us with everything he had.”

“And was still soundly defeated,” said Accolon, “His followers did not function as an organized unit, but rather as a living shield at best. Such tactics do not win battles.”

“Nor do numbers,” Arthur agreed, “Will, resolve, tactics, and perhaps a bit of fortune, on the other hand, mean all the difference in the world.”

That earned a grunt and a scowl from Ryan, as he at last set his fork down and pushed his plate away. It almost instantly vanished, as did the remainder of the breakfast dishes.

Rasalas summoned a clean plate from the kitchen. He touched it with a finger. “ _Portus_ .” It shimmered blue a moment, before falling still.

“Right. Those coming with, gather around.”

Arthur and Brady quickly took up position on either side of him, while Accolon, Ryan, Aaron, and Casey quickly joined in, getting a hand on it where they could.

“ _Activate_ ,” Rasalas whispered, and they vanished in a blur of limbs.

* * *

As the world came back into focus, Rasalas dropped into a ready stance, prepared to protect himself, as it at first appeared that they'd somehow been sent somewhere else. Instead of the tranquility and calm he remembered of the lawn of Avalon, he found the place surrounded in a heavy mist. Rather than the clear warm skies, it seemed to be cloaked in cloud cover, looking about to burst open with a torrent of rain at any second.

Rasalas gradually relaxed, realizing that they were in the right place.

“The Goddess' grasp on this world is slipping,” said Accolon, softly, as he was helped to his feet.

“C-c-come this way,” said Ryan, taking his mother's hand. Aaron hesitated a moment, before following.

Everyone else, meanwhile, made a track for the sisterhood's quarters, carved into the stone face of the small mountain that took up the bulk of the island. Their last visit, they had been able to see the stone pillars that formed the facade from the lawn. Now, they were barely visible, masked by the heavy mist.

The mist did not, however, penetrate the quarters themselves, and as they crossed the threshold, they were met with warm smiles from members of the sisterhood. One of them hurried off into another part of the residence, only to return a few moments later, with both Viviane and Morgaine in tow.

“Sister!!” Arthur exclaimed, as he and Morgaine embraced tightly. Rasalas could only grin, seeing the two siblings be reunited.

“Rasalas,” Viviane greeted, “You have at last returned to us.”

“My apologies for not returning sooner. The door to Camelot locked again, this time for nearly three months.”

Viviane furrowed her brows. “Four months? It has been over two decades.”

“As Arthur has already told us,” said Rasalas, “I know some terrible things have happened here—”

“Mordred controls Camelot,” said Morgaine, as she and Arthur separated.

“As we somewhat expected,” Rasalas answered, “It's something we can't interfere with, right? But... that... we...”

“Calmly, young knight,” said Arthur, giving Rasalas' shoulder a squeeze.

Rasalas sucked in a breath, and blew it out.

“What happened?” asked Viviane.

“Voldemort. He attacked Hogwarts yesterday. Brought most of his followers. We prevented him from getting into the school, managed to either kill or capture most of them, but...”

Rasalas let out a frustrated sigh.

“You know about his Horcruxes.”

“Yes, you did share that with us long ago,” Morgaine remembered.

“When I dealt him the death blow, I blacked out. And... then I find Voldemort in my head! He... I...”

He couldn't finish, and collapsed into a chair, holding his face in his hands, grief-stricken. Viviane, meanwhile, understood at once.

“He has made an additional Horcrux, one he had not intended.”

“Somethin' like that,” said Brady, “'an the old man suspected.”

“I'm not blaming him,” Rasalas muttered, before sucking in another breath.

“Young Mr. Sawyer lost his father yesterday,” said Arthur, “Before the attack on the school, Death Eaters also launched an attack at their place of business.”

“Ryan and his mother are visiting with the goddess down on the lawn.”

Viviane only gave a nod. “Understandable. As much as I would like to begin investigating remedies to your Horcrux problem, for now, it is more important that you take time to recover from the events you took part in.”

“But...”

“You have suffered emotional trauma, young Rasalas. That leaves you in fragile state, which could put you at risk. Did Voldemort attempt to possess you?”

“NO! I mean... I...” 

He deflated, realizing it was possible that was  _exactly_ what Voldemort had intended to do. In a questionable emotional state, he could be vulnerable to another such attempt, one that could end very differently.

“I...”

“Mrs. Sawyer'll need to bury her husband,” said Brady.

“Tell her we would love to help out,” Morgaine offered.

That earned a weak smile from Rasalas. “Conceded. But... once that is done, we... we really need to deal with this.” He gestured to his infamous scar.

“Perhaps Merlin might have possible solutions,” Arthur suggested.

“Merlin is no longer with us,” said Morgaine, sadly, “He passed on a few months ago.”

Rasalas again bowed his head. Though he'd only met the great wizard on one occasion, he'd felt the powerful aura, and had stood in his shadow. Only Viviane could match it... and the only person alive in his world with ability remotely close was Dumbledore. And that was not even in the same league. Compared with Avalon's magic, modern magic equated to parlour tricks.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent, with Rasalas and his party getting caught up on what had happened over the past twenty years in Arthur's world. Though Arthur had given a brief overview when first reunited with Rasalas, now, things were covered in more detail.

Morgaine had remained at Camelot for a number of years, before returning to Avalon. For some time, she still remained in contact with Arthur through messages, but that eventually stopped.

A rumour was started claiming that Lancelot was secretly visiting Gwenhwyfar at Glastonbury. That resulted in Lancelot fleeing the castle in the small hours of the night, perhaps ten years prior, fearing for his life.

That, in turn, sewed discord and mistrust amongst the knights, with only a small portion of them still absolutely loyal to Arthur. The rest, put their faith and trust in Mordred, who by all accounts, was running the country.

* * *

_April 9_

The intervening days had been spent primarily at Avalon, with only a few occasions in which Rasalas was summoned back to the sanctuary. For the time being, the business surrounding the captured Death Eaters was primarily in the hands of Kate, Marcus, and the goblins. Between them, they verified the heritage, making sure Rasalas did in fact have family rights with regard to the accused. The information was for now kept quiet, since there were a number of individuals who fell outside of Rasalas' influence.

On this day, however, all of that was pushed aside, as a funeral was held for Phil. There had been brief debate about where to hold it, with them settling on the south field at the Sawyers. It backed onto the lake. Since Phil had wished to be cremated, Morgaine had suggested they make a pyre; Casey readily agreed, even though Phil had not been a devout follower of the goddess. There had been concerns about the legality of it, but Bill had reminded them of the fact that the Wizarding world did do things rather differently, and they later received confirmation from Auror Jackson that performing such a rite was well within the right of the home owner. Considering Ryan was muggleborn, there was no legal issue.

So it was, that early on that Monday morning, both the Sawyers, the Gibsons, Rasalas, Bill, Fred, George, Marcus, Arthur, Accolon, Cai, Bedwyr, Morgaine, and Viviane gathered around the large pyre, constructed of many timbers. The timbers had been collected over the past few days by some of Arthur's knights. The sky was an angry, boiling grey shade, appearing intent on drenching the event at any moment.

“If everyone will stand in a circle around the pyre,” said Morgaine.

Everyone spread out to form a circle as directed.

“That which comes from the earth, is returned to the earth,” Viviane began, “The wheel turns, and the cycle continues, sure as the sun rises in the east and the four winds blow.

“Nothing is final. The only constant, is change;

No farewell is the last farewell.

The wheel turns,

And we who remain behind

Know that one day we will once again

Share the bread and wine with our brother.”

Both Ryan and Casey embraced tightly, as Viviane's words sunk in. Arthur, meanwhile, approached a small brazier which had been brought from the castle, and withdrew a torch. He presented it to Ryan, but the young wizard seemed hesitant to accept it.

“Together,” said Casey, softly, as she grasped the offered torch.

With his mother's encouragement, Ryan also placed his hand on it, and together, they lit the pyre. The flames took hold relatively quickly, with plenty of dry moss, pine needles set in the middle of the pyre.

“Mr. Sawyer was my real dad,” said Aaron, quietly, “Looked after me when my family didn't...”

“As he looked out for me somewhat, two years ago. At least until I found my feet here,” said Rasalas. The heat from the fire was forcing everyone to step back, and so now the group gathered at the south end of the pyre.

“'an he was real cool with all us bein' here,” said Corey, “Lookin' after my big bro here.”

“That w-w-was Da,” Ryan whispered, “Who I am n-n-now... I owe him...”

He fell silent a moment, before he began to softly sing:

“ _Of all the money that e'er I had_  
_I spent it in good company_  
_And all the harm I've ever done_  
_Alas, it was to none but me_  
_And all I've done for want of wit_  
_To memory now I can't recall_  
_So fill to me...”_

He couldn't continue, but collapsed into tears, shaking as great sobs wracked his body. As Casey wrapped her boy in a tight hug, with Aaron joining in, both Brady and Corey looked at each other, and picked up where Ryan left off:

“ _So fill to me the parting glass_  
_And drink a health whate'er befalls_  
_Then gently rise and softly call_  
_'Good night and joy be to you all'_

_Of all the comrades that e'er I had_  
_They're sorry for my going away_  
_And all the sweethearts that e'er I had_  
_They'd wish me one more day to stay_  
_But since it fell into my lot_  
_That I should rise and you should not_  
_I'll gently rise and softly call_  
_'Good night and joy be to you all'”(1)_

* * *

_April 12_

When Dumbledore stepped into the office to begin the day, he found a small vial containing a dark potion waiting for him at his desk, along with a sealed letter. He gestured at the items with his wand, and discovering no ill intent on either, set the vial aside, and broke the seal on the letter.

 

  
_Professor,_

_Since thus far you have proven yourself worthy of my trust, I extend a further gesture of goodwill. I have spoken with Viviane with regard to the curse you presently suffer from. With assistance from her and the sisterhood, we have prepared a potion which will completely negate the effects. Find a recipe attached, feel free to share this with Professor Snape with our compliments._

_With regards,_

_(a messy signature was scrawled here)_

_Sir Rasalas Peverell_

  
  


The headmaster separated the second page from the letter, and sure enough, there was a lengthy recipe. Indeed, Severus would be most interested in seeing it. Considering most of the Death Eater threat had been eliminated, the contingency he'd been planning for June could then be scrapped altogether. All the same, he would speak to Severus first, just to get a second opinion on the matter. After all, one could never be too careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: More fallout from the battle, as the ICW censures Britain; Viviane has a more detailed look at Rasalas/Harry's scar; more unsettling news comes from the English ministry; and Rasalas/Harry has his first encounter with Mordred..._  
>  _CHAPTER NOTES: So... will Canadian and American wizards go to war with England? Wait & see..._  
>  _(1) According to Wikipedea: “'The Parting Glass' is a Scottish and Irish traditional song, often sung at the end of a gathering of friends. It was allegedly the most popular parting song sung in Scotland before Robert Burns wrote 'Auld Lang Syne'. The song is also hugely popular in Ireland and amongst Irish communities.”_  
> 
> _Ryan is singing the more recent rendition by Shaun Davey, which use a slightly different melody. It was featured in the movie “Waking Ned Devine”. Of course, it's no surprise that both Brady and his brother know the tune._


	50. Power Plays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _More fallout from the battle, as the ICW censures Britain; Viviane has a more detailed look at Rasalas/Harry's scar; more unsettling news comes from the English ministry; and Rasalas/Harry has his first encounter with Mordred..._

**311\. POWER PLAYS  
April/May 2007**

“ _The greatest power is not money power, but political power.”_  
_\- Walter Annenberg_  


* * *

_BRITAIN CENSURED_

_ICW citing failure to address Dark Lord menace_

_Buenos Aires, Argentina (AWP): The International Confederation of Wizards has slapped Britain's magical government with a writ of official Censure Monday, citing 'a failure to acknowledge the existence of a Dark Lord operating within their borders, and an unwillingness to take steps against a terrorist organization which threatened not only Britain, but every other nation in the membership'._

_The Motion of Censure was brought forward by Canadian representatives, as soon as the floor was opened for business when the April session got under way. American representatives immediately seconded the motion, and the debate took up the remainder of the day, as a number of other nations also chimed in with scathing remarks, all condemning Britain's many failures to properly address the threat the Death Eaters and its head truly presented._

“ _We wanted to slap them with contempt,” said Brian Farrel, the American delegate. “Speaking with other delegates, we decided to settle for the censure; it'll be enough to send a strong message to Britain, that they need to get their house in order.”_

“ _We've seen, what, two Dark Lords emanate from Britain's shores,” said Charlene D'amour, the Canadian delegate, “Enough is enough. We want to be sure that Canada's citizens do not have to suffer from yet another monster a generation from now, and that's exactly what we will have, if Britain is allowed to carry on without some kind of change being brought about.”_

_William Bernard, the English delegate, swiftly put forward a Censure motion of his own, citing the 'uninvited and unwelcome interference on the part of Canadian and American Aurors during the incident at Hogwarts', but with no second, it moved no further. In fact, a number of delegates issued words of congratulations and gratitude for both Auror forces standing up and doing what was right, and what was necessary in the face of the attack on the grounds of the school on April 2._

_A Writ of Censure is considered damaging to the affected member's reputation, and may bring about further political and economic consequences. It also officially challenges the affected member's credibility, and most importantly, could lead to expulsion proceedings—though less likely._

_Asked if further sanctions may be taken against England, delegates remained tight-lipped on the matter officially, but off the record, a number called the Censure 'ineffective'. Some were open to a motion declaring England a 'Rogue Nation', opening up international intervention (see TO PUT AN END TO, page 2)_

_Brief: Censure, Contempt, Expulsion proceedings, Rogue Nation, (page 3)_

_Other member nations weigh in on issue, (page 2)_

  


“An expulsion from the international body would not be constructive,” said Arthur, as he finished reading, “It would do far greater harm to innocent people than it would to the minority responsible.”

“It'll likely do plenty of damage to their reputation as it is, if I understand this correctly,” said Rasalas, “The thing is, England's magical population should know by now who to blame. The Ministry of Magic has known about Voldemort for years, and chose to do nothing about it. Reap what they sow and all that rot.”

“You lot had best hurry, it's going on 8 o'clock Avalon time,” said Bill.

“Right.”

“Uh.... w-w-we're not c-coming,” said Ryan, “I... ma n-n-needs me here.”

“It's perfectly acceptable, young wizard,” said Arthur, “Your family must come first. Do what you must.”

“Thank you sir,” said Aaron, as the pair rose, “Mrs. Sawyer still isn't dealing well being alone.”

“I keep saying, it's perfectly fine for her to stay here in the sanctuary, we've got more than enough room,” said Rasalas, “And given the comings and goings, it won't be so lonely.”

“M-m-ma's not ready to let go of the house,” Ryan answered, sadly.

“And I'm not saying she has to.” He glanced up at the clock on the fireplace mantle. “All right. Really, we gotta go.”

* * *

They arrived on the lawn of Avalon via port key a few minutes later, and as a group, they hurried up to the quarters, to find Viviane waiting. Now that things had settled down somewhat, there was agreement that it was time to examine Rasalas' scar in detail.

“How are you feeling?” Viviane questioned as a greeting.

“Well enough. My sleeping companions do help considerably, I think,” Rasalas answered.

“I see.”

Viviane hid her amusement.

“Come then. We will conduct the examination in the stone circle.”

“Where Avalon's magic is at its strongest,” Accolon guessed, to which Viviane gave a nod.

“We wage war against terrible magic,” she said, gravely, “Just conducting an examination of it requires a deep well of power.”

“Never mind the repelling effect it will have. Y'know, a small part of me dares Voldemort to try to 'visit' me while we're doing this. It'll likely hurt him much more than it'll hurt me,” said Rasalas, waspishly.

“Careful what 'ya wish for, Ras,” said Brady.

Rasalas rolled his eyes. “I'm not serious. C'mon then, let's get this over with.”

A short time later, Viviane had Rasalas resting somewhat comfortably on the stone table at the centre of the stone circle, thanks to a cushioning charm. Morgaine then began to apply a thick pasty substance to the scar itself.

“You must tell us of any sensations or feelings you get from the scar,” she said.

“Trust me, you'll know.”

Now, a group of priestesses had gathered around the table, and began to chant in low tones. It was not difficult to sense the well of magical energy building up in the circle—as if the circle itself was becoming the conduit.

Viviane then began to make a circular motion with her hand over the scar, and now, Rasalas felt a spike of pain. He winced.

“What is it?”

“Spiking pain... felt it before.” Rasalas winced again.

“Back when you was seein' the door 'an shit,” Brady remembered.

“Yeah. A year and a half ago.”

“This was when you were receiving visions from the dark lord,” said Morgaine.

“Yeah.”

Viviane gestured again with a hand, and this time, a black thread sprung from the scar, soaring skyward.

“Have there been other times Riddle has attempted to possess you?”

“Not that I can be certain of. I'm only sure of his most recent attack,” Rasalas answered. He winced again, feeling another strong spike of pain, and the thread flared in unison, as if mirroring what he was feeling.

“I do wonder... if the connection Rasalas is sharing... carries similarity to the connection formed by the Dark Mark,” Arthur mused, “Riddle was able to cause pain to young Mr. Flint through the connection.”

Viviane paused in her examination. “It is worth pursuing.”

“Viviane, I'm not sure if—”

“Rasalas, if he's been permitted into your sanctuary, then he has passed the moral tests required for entry here,” said Morgaine.

“He's been nothing but a friend and an ally,” said Arthur, “And if Viviane is extending invitation...”

“All right. Brady, can you dispatch a message? Summon Fawkes to deliver it.”

“Yeah.”

It was only a few minutes between Brady scribbling out a message and summoning Fawkes, that the bird swiftly returned, Marcus in tow. He quickly took in his surroundings, and, spotting Viviane, gave a bow of the head.

“Your grace. How can I be of service?”

“Arthur has made suggestion that the Dark Mark on your arm might carry a similar connection to Riddle as does the scar on Rasalas' forehead. You may decline to assist, but—”

“By all means. If there is one regret, perhaps one of many, it is taking the Dark Mark. I have done terrible things to obtain it.”

“The Dark Mark isn't a Horcrux,” Rasalas argued, and immediately regretted it, as Marcus' eyes went wide.

“Wait. The Dark Lord made you a Horcrux?”

“That information cannot be made public,” said Arthur, firmly.

“And a secret it will remain,” Marcus promised, “Though I do agree with Rasalas on point. It is different magic.”

“And yet bears a similarity in that both of you share a common link,” said Viviane.

“Then I might suggest bringing one other into this investigation,” said Marcus, “Professor Snape has been in the Dark Lord's service for longer than I have been alive. It's likely his connection would be stronger.”

“For now we only want to establish if there is a similarity,” said Viviane, as a rough chair suddenly appeared close to the stone table. “If you would sit down, and make yourself comfortable.”

“If you would also remove your robe, so we might get a look at the mark,” said Morgaine.

“Of course.”

Marcus quickly shed his robe, revealing a light button-up shirt and charcoal trousers. He then rolled up his left shirt sleeve, exposing the ugly tattoo.

“It has faded slightly since the Dark Lord was felled.”

“In shade form, he has far less control over his magic,” said Viviane, “A lesser man would have no control at all, and such magic would be broken.”

“But we ain't dealin' with a common wizard now, are we?” Brady snarked.

“As many have found out,” Marcus agreed, “His promises, all honeyed words, all of them lies. All it truly amounts to in the end is slavery and tyranny.”

Now, Viviane began to weave an intricate pattern with her hands over the tattoo.

“As was said for Rasalas, please let us know of any discomfort or pain you feel during the examination.”

Almost immediately, another black thread appeared, this one joining the one from Rasalas' scar.

“Almost identical,” Viviane noted, “Though your mark is much more deeply ingrained than the scar. Curious.”

“Intent,” said Marcus, simply, “The Dark Lord created this with intent, while the scar Rasalas carries was made by accident.”

“Indeed, that would make the most sense. As to dispelling it—either of them, for that matter, it will be no easy chore.”

The examination continued for another hour, before Viviane at last called an end to it.

“Both the scar and the mark, have to be destroyed, 'beyond magical repair',” she said, as Rasalas sat up.

“Like the other Horcruxes,” Rasalas realized.

“Yes, very likely.” He seemed to think a moment. “Would... would Basilisk venom do it?”

Viviane looked confused. “A Basilisk? What is it?”

“A... a terrible creature, your grace,” Marcus volunteered, as he rolled his shirt sleeve back down, “It's considered the king of serpents. Its gaze alone can kill, and its venom is considered one of the most lethal substances in the magical world.”

“'an how 'ya plan on survivin' it?” Brady challenged.

Marcus opened his mouth to answer, but Rasalas beat him to it. “Phoenix tears.”

It was then he was slammed with another memory: the Chamber of Secrets, Slytherin's Basilisk, the Sword of Gryffindor, Ginny nearly dying... and Fawkes.

“A basilisk... I fought one. It's a memory I'd hoped not to regain. But... Fawkes, he cried on the wound.”

Viviane seemed to think on it, before answering, “It's something worth investigating. We would take plenty of extra precautions, and I would suggest such a procedure be carried out at dawn—”

“Better,” said Marcus, “The summer solstice is not that far off. Dawn of the Summer Solstice.”

“Rasalas? Can you hold off that long?” Morgaine questioned, “He is right, of course.”

“I think so. I've lived this long with it, another two months isn't gonna matter a whole lot,” Rasalas answered, “That we are moving ahead with some sort of plan does put me at ease.”

“In the immediate term, we really must resume training,” said Accolon, “Much time has passed.”

“And young Marcus, I would see you join us,” said Arthur, “You have proven a strong ally and a good friend to us, and demonstrate remorse for your past.”

“As long as your past remains in your past, Mr. Flint, you are welcome to join us here,” said Viviane. “However, know that should you ever return to the dark path you followed, the Goddess will take swift retribution. The arts we partake in are not meant for those wanting to violate the delicate balance.”

“That's a path I have no intention of ever following again. Said to Rasalas back at the beginning of the year, I have seen things, things I cannot un-see. The true depravity of the Dark Lord. That was not following the old ways, but rather, an abomination.”

“Would you die to back up your words?” asked Arthur.

“Willingly. Part of my family did follow the old traditions. Somewhere along the way, those practices were forgotten, replaced with madness. This is a similar fate suffered by a number of the old families, drawn in by the Dark Lord's charm.”

Viviane gave a nod. “Very well. Let us get organized, so we may begin.”

* * *

The following evening, when the group returned from Avalon, they found Kate waiting.

“What happened now?” Rasalas wondered.

Kate reached into her portfolio, and drew out a letter. “This was sent to our Office of International Cooperation. You've been barred from entering the country.”

“He's desperate,” said Rasalas, as he scanned the letter. No surprise, Brady and most of the others were also named.

“I think so. There are rumblings about the Wizengamot calling for no confidence.”

“I have no confidence in the Wizengamot as a whole,” Rasalas muttered, “With a couple of exceptions.”

“How easily enforced is such a proclamation?” Accolon questioned.

“No magical method of arrival will work,” said Kate. “However, using non-magical means would still work. No nation has border wards... the amount of power needed for such a thing—”

“Of course.”

“The door still works,” said Bill. Rasalas glanced up at the clock over the mantle. But of course, they would have checked it out.

“Just be careful,” said Kate, “The ministry can arrest you if you're seen.”

“The ministry would be treading on unstable ground, doing such a thing,” said Marcus, “Arresting one of the King's knights, they had better have a damned good reason. Hold on... need to look something up.”

He hurried off to his room.

“He may turn out to be a good solicitor,” said Kate, “He's got the mind for this kind of thing.”

“That may have to wait. He's going to be training with us now,” said Rasalas.

“Oh. I see. Means I'll have to pull on a few more interns.”

“Let me know who they are, so they have access here.”

It was then Dumbledore's Patronus drifted into the room, announcing, “ _Sir Rasalas. Need to see you, urgent matter. Find me in my office._ ”

Rasalas groaned. “What now? Uh... Brady, Accolon, Arthur, if you guys would come along. Fawkes?”

The phoenix appeared in his customary burst of golden flames.

“A lift to the headmaster's office, if you don't mind.”

Fawkes presented his tail feathers, and with everyone grabbing hold, they vanished, to appear just outside the gargoyle guarding the staircase to the headmaster's office.

“He's not able to take us straight in,” Accolon guessed.

“I think if it were an emergency, then yes, but in this case, it would be considered rude,” Rasalas answered. He focused on the gargoyle. “Sir Peverell to see the headmaster at his request.”

The gargoyle shifted a moment, before twisting up and away, the spiral staircase filling in the void. With Fawkes lighting on Rasalas' shoulder, the four of them quickly ascended the staircase, to find the door to the office already open. Voices could be heard from the inner office, and when they stepped inside, they found not only Dumbledore present, but so was Amelia Bones, and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Rasalas and friends. Thank you for coming,” said Dumbledore by way of greeting.

“What happened?” Rasalas questioned, uneasy.

“I've been sacked,” Bones announced.

“Worse, Fudge has ordered the release of every Death Eater we captured at the beginning of the month here at Hogwarts,” said Shacklebolt.

Rasalas resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. “That useless sack of dragon shit. Y'know, I'd almost suspect he's a Voldemort sympathizer. So many things he's done recently... have done nothing but assist Tom Riddle's interests. Denying he's back, until seeing Riddle with his own eyes last spring... cutting the DMLE budget... and now this.”

“And you're not alone there,” said Bones, “A number in my—former department—have a similar line of thinking.”

“Perhaps he should be questioned under the influence of truth serum,” said Arthur, “And be checked for the Dark Mark.”

“Once again, colleagues have a similar mind,” Bones agreed.

“As it stands, the department stands by our head,” said Shacklebolt, “We consider all of those detained from the battle to be dangerous offenders. They waged war against magical Britain.”

“How likely is it that those detained may be released?” questioned Accolon.

“Fudge would likely have to fire the majority of the department,” answered Shacklebolt.

“The scary thing is, he might do exactly that,” said Bones, “The man's getting desperate.”

“'an desperate means dangerous,” said Brady.

“Exactly the point,” said Shacklebolt, “He's fired three department heads for dissenting comments alone. The ministry's not a pleasant place to be these days.”

“How can I help?” Rasalas questioned.

“You have connections to the Canadian ministry, correct?” asked Bones.

“You want them to put more political pressure on the ministry here,” Rasalas guessed.

“Releasing suspected terrorists is the type of behaviour expected of a rogue nation,” said Shacklebolt, “As the ICW was considering declaring us a rogue nation...”

“You want the Canadian ministry to warn Fudge of that.”

“Y'all want an invasion? That's what'll happen, what Miss Lewis was sayin'.”

“Oh, I have strong doubts it'll ever reach that far, Mr. Gibson,” said Dumbledore, at last wading into the conversation, “Cornelius is, I daresay, playing, how do you phrase it, 'Chicken'... with the international community.”

Arthur looked confused. “Forgive me, I don't follow.”

“Who blinks first loses,” Rasalas explained, “It's a pissing match, a power play and nothing more.”

“Puttin' lives at stake. How'd a moron like Fudge get to be minister anyway?” Brady wondered.

“Like any other politician,” Shacklebolt answered, “Had all the right answers, kissed lots of babies, made lots of promises. People ate it up. His campaign slogan was ' _A fair deal for Wizards who deal fair with Muggles!_ '”

“And how often does he have words with the non-magical Prime Minister?” Rasalas wondered, “According to my solicitor, the Canadian Minister of Magic meets with the Prime Minister weekly at a minimum. More frequently if something's happening.”

“More credence to the point I was making,” said Shacklebolt.

“The point of concern is that he may take more drastic measures,” said Dumbledore, “There is no guarantee the DMLE will be able to keep Voldemort's followers locked away.”

“Then we will need to speed things up on my end,” said Rasalas, “I'll have to reduce my training a bit, but if that's what it takes... I want to be sure Tom's followers are dealt with for good. He did say he has some sort of contingency in place. Without followers, it'll be more difficult for him to lash out from beyond the grave.”

“Did he go into any sort of detail exactly what kind of contingency?” Bones wondered.

“No. His exact words though, ' _Unlike when I attacked your parents all those years ago, I have taken many steps to ensure without question, my plans will still move forward_.'”

“So without question, those who follow him must be neutralized for good,” said Arthur. “Their magic bound at a minimum.”

He felt something shift inside him, and he partially unsheathed Excalibur.

“Those that follow Tom Riddle are enemies of the crown in perpetuity. This I have proclaimed previously. Be it known that my loyal knights shall be empowered to carry out my will... that those who bear his mark, forfeit their magic for crimes against Britannia and its people. This is the will of God... and the Goddess. Those who resist, shall then forfeit their life.”

He re-sheathed his blade.

“Severus...” Dumbledore began, but Rasalas gave a nod. “He can be forgiven, as can a scarce few others. A glance at ones' mind can determine guilt or innocence, am I correct, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded sadly. “This is so.”

“And with Arthur's decree, they can be compelled to answer truthfully. If they're innocent, then fine, they can be freed. Those who are not... will learn what it's like to live as a Muggle. End of story,” said Rasalas.

“Priority should be made, those who are most serious threat, those the minister might attempt to free first. Those who he has allied with, accepted gifts and coin from,” said Accolon.

“Those he's accepted bribes from. Malfoy, for starters. I've already neutered his son,” said Rasalas, viciously.

That earned a disapproving look from Dumbledore.

Arthur let out a sigh. “Professor, those who follow Tom Riddle are a cancer on your—our world. When will you see this truth?”

“Our numbers...” Dumbledore began.

Arthur waved him off. “You have made claim before. If our numbers are at stake, then so be it. Better to die off, than to be a cancer, a poison to other just magical nations.”

“The lightning-struck tower,” said Shacklebolt, stonily.

Both Arthur and Accolon were confused. “The parallel escapes me,” Arthur confessed.

“The Tower tarot card,” Rasalas answered, “I... vaguely remember its meaning—though I do question why I bothered with Divination in the first place. Should've went with Arithmancy, would've been more useful.

“Getting off track here. Tomorrow, I will be calling at Gringotts, Toronto branch. Those being detained by the ministry for their involvement in the attack on Hogwarts... will be interviewed, one by one. Their guilt or innocence shall be determined at that time, with consequences being carried out also at that time.”

Dumbledore let out a sigh. “Please see reason.”

“Professor. I'm done playing around. They've bought the farm, as far as I'm concerned... as far as his majesty is concerned... and honestly... you don't have a choice in the matter. I mean, we could start the interviews with you, right here and now. Shall we summon Professor Snape with a vial of Veritaserum? Do remember, you carry Peverell blood, meaning I _can_ compel you to cooperate.”

Dumbledore hid his shock quite well. Most definitely, being questioned under the influence of Veritaserum was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Far too many secrets he had no intention of letting see the light of day and all that. He let out a huff, but said nothing more.

“Glad that you see it our way,” said Rasalas, lightly. “Kingley, you're still in a position to help us out?”

“Very much so. There are still plenty of us in the department ready to help you out, Lord Peverell.”

“Good.”

“And I'll do what I can, even if I'm on the sidelines,” Bones promised, “I still have plenty of say in the Wizengamot, and you still have more than a few allies there.”

“Thank you for your support. I will remember my allies, as I also remember my enemies. Wait for my Patronus. Likely sometime between eleven and noon hour tomorrow.”

With no further words, Rasalas and his companions swept from the office.

Bones gave Dumbledore a frigid look. “I'm warning you Albus. Interfere and he'll do more than ruin you. We've got one useless wind bag making a muck of things, we don't need another.”

* * *

_CAPTURED DEATH EATERS LOSE THEIR MAGIC!_  
_MINISTRY AND WIZENGAMOT DISMAYED BY PEVERELL POWER PLAY, CONSIDERING OPTIONS!_  
_NO TRIAL? HYPOCRISY IN PEVERELL ACTIONS!_  
_QUO WARRANTO: WHERE DOES PEVERELL DERIVE HIS AUTHORITY? WIZARDING WORLD DEMANDS ANSWERS!_  
_ROGUE AURORS SACKED; FUDGE CONTINUES TO CLEAN HOUSE_

  
  


Rasalas didn't bother to read any further. It was an agreed on fact that the Daily Prophet printed garbage at best, a mouthpiece for the ministry and nothing more. However, he did agree with Kate in that it was important to have some sort of idea what they were saying these days.

The last couple of days had been rather productive, all in all. Eighteen Death Eaters had been rendered less than a squib, including a number of high-profile figures—Malfoy Sr., for example. Hence, the backlash from the _Prophet_.

“The DMLE is suggesting we release a transcript of one of the interviews,” said Kate, “It should give the public a sense of how we're proceeding, and counter the foolishness being drummed up by the Prophet.”

“And how are other publications reacting to our course of action?” Accolon wondered.

“Much more favourably,” Kate answered, “Which is why I didn't bring any copies.”

“No surprise,” said Rasalas, “The only people who see problems with what I'm doing, are the people I'm trying to save. And Shacklebolt being sacked, it makes things more complicated.”

“Not to worry. Looks like both he and Amelia anticipated that move. The prisoners are being moved to Gringotts.”

Rasalas gave a feral grin. “I'll pay them two hundred thousand Galleons for their service.”

“Rasalas.”

“Seriously. Let it be known the goblin nation is doing wizardkind a great service, something that should not be expected or required of them.” He grinned again. “It'll drive Fudge and the pureblood rabble absolutely mental.”

“Ah, of course,” Arthur realized, “Their view of goblins as being lesser-beings.”

“Exactly. Thing is, though goblins are a different race, they're every bit as sharp as a wizard.”

“Forgettin' the fact they look after your money,” said Brady.

“Yeah, that too, though beside the point. And let's not get started on the English wizard world's opinion of house elves.”

“The statue in the atrium of the English ministry demonstrates exactly what the wizards think of themselves compared with other races,” said Kate. “A wizard, with a witch gazing up at him like he's a god... as are a centaur, a goblin, and a house elf.”

Rasalas rolled his eyes. “Somehow, I don't think the centaurs would appreciate that.”

“Nor would the goblins,” said Kate, “The statue is downright offensive, if you ask me.”

It was then both Cai and Bedwyr hurried in from the common room.

“Sire, a messenger has just departed,” said Cai, “He delivered a warning... from the Saxons.”

Arthur furrowed his brows. “Is that so?”

“A... a month, maybe two,” said Cai, “They come, in great numbers.”

“And where does Mordred stand in this?” questioned Accolon.

“He is absent the castle presently.”

“And the others now deign his majesty worthy of their time?” Rasalas muttered. “They can fuck off back to their pretend-king.”

“Rasalas,” Arthur admonished him, “Let us take opportunity and learn what we may.”

He rose. “Forgive us, miss Lewis, but we must take leave.”

“It's perfectly okay, sir.”

Stepping back into Camelot for the first time since Christmas, Rasalas could instantly feel the difference. Darkness had descended on the castle, in a number of ways. The near-hostility on the count of Mordred could almost be tasted.

“Bloody hell. I can almost taste the hostility,” Rasalas muttered. “A scary thought: your son somehow hooking up with Voldemort.”

“He possesses very little control of his gifts,” said Bedwyr, “And perhaps it is where we carry favour. If he were in any way adept...”

“It is unlikely I would still be alive,” said Arthur. “As it is, I tread carefully here. There are many whose true allegiance I question.”

“Then we'll make it short,” said Brady, “Fightin' your knights... ain't gon' be pretty.”

“And it wouldn't be,” Arthur agreed, as they descended the passageway leading to the great hall. “Do keep your wits about you.”

Just as they stepped into the room, the great doors were thrown open, and Mordred hurried in, accompanied by a number of knights. Rasalas recognized him almost immediately: cold, dark eyes, hair tightly braided—cornrows, what they called it? He was a younger, colder, darker image of Morgaine and Arthur combined.

“Sire. I see you have returned,” he said, disdainfully, a sneer on his lips.

“I received message of import.”

“The messenger,” said Mordred, as he took a seat at the round table. Rasalas noted that he did not take his father's chair. Interesting. Perhaps he did have some restraint after all.

Arthur paused a moment, before indicating Rasalas and Brady. “Sir Mordred. I present Sir Rasalas, and Sir Brady. Rasalas, Brady, I present my war duke, Sir Mordred of Orkney.”

“Arthur has made note of you both on occasion,” said Mordred. “How is it you only attend the round table now?”

“The goddess locked us out of Camelot for some time,” Rasalas answered. It was close to the truth.

Mordred frowned a moment.

“It would then have something to do with the unusual door in his majesty's room.”

“It does, yes. And before you ask, the answer is no. It's off limits to most of the castle, including most of the people in this room,” said Rasalas.

“The safety of the people in the castle is most certainly my business,” said Mordred, hotly, “I will go where I please.”

Brady barely held a smirk. “Try 'an walk in, see where it gets 'ya.”

Mordred cocked his head, appearing momentarily confused by the accent. “You have a strange tongue,” he commented.

“They are present by command of the goddess herself,” said Arthur, “Hindering them will bring consequences.”

Mordred's lips curled into a cruel smile. “Wrought by _who_?”

“The goddess herself, Mordred. Surely, you must be aware of her power,” said Rasalas, “Knowing your parents, how you were conceived, you must see just how far her power reaches.”

Mordred schooled his features, trying to keep evidence of his shock to a minimum. How did this... unknown... know about him? Not even Arthur was aware of just how Mordred came into being—at least not yet. But... this young knight... how... how did he know?

Rasalas decided to stir the pot just a little more, easily plucking the thoughts from the dark knight's head. “I know far more than you would ever be comfortable revealing, Mordred. I know you did not come to this table with peace in mind. Tell us. When did you plan on murdering your king?”

It was instant pandemonium. It had to be a near-miracle that an all-out fight did not break out between knights loyal to Arthur, and knights now loyal to Mordred. However, it also gave Rasalas an idea of numbers. Who still remained loyal to Arthur, and those who had truly jumped ship, ready to betray him. It would need at least a second look in the pensieve, with a few extra eyes. A quick estimate put it at about sixty-five percent in favour of Arthur.

He let it go on for a few minutes, before flicking his hand at the ceiling, setting off a firework.

“Filthy, traitorous cur,” a knight on the opposite side of the table shouted, before two others dragged him back into his seat. However, a number of others were nodding in agreement, sending murderous looks at Rasalas.

“I've been called worse,” said Rasalas, “But enough about me. That little demonstration here shows me—and your king—exactly where things stand. Fellow knights, this very land stands a real and terrible threat from outside its borders.

“Yet, all of you stand here, or sit here, and bicker about nonsensical topics of no import. If this is your best, I truly fear for this land, and its future... both near and far.”

“Rasalas...” Arthur cautioned.

“No matter your feelings, we must present a united threat... or die. It's that simple. Now... we were informed a message was delivered from the Saxons. What did it entail?”

“Quoting, our numbers are as bees. Our arrows will blot out the sun as we come for you,” said Gawain. “Three fortnight, we come.”

“Fortnight?” Rasalas questioned.

“Six weeks,” said Arthur.

“See our allies informed.”

“Lancelot. We need—”

“That traitor is not welcome here,” said one of the knights, harshly.

“Says you,” spoke another.

The room once again erupted into chaos, and Rasalas again set off a firework to get everyone's attention.

“Bickering like ickle firsties. Bloody hell, get a grip! What would people say, if they were able to get a glimpse of this sort of behaviour from you lot? The companions, supposedly the best, brightest defenders of the land? In this state? I think not.”

“Why was he chased out anyway?” Brady wanted to know.

“He was seen with Gwenhwyfar at Glastonbury!” a knight close to Mordred shouted.

Rasalas seemed to think a moment. “I see. So, someone going to look in on the king's wife out of concern, you instead twist it into some sort of beastliness.”

The look of shock on the knight's face confirmed Rasalas was spot on.

“This... this is witchcraft!” the man shouted.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps, it is simply the goddess acting to right a wrong perpetrated against the innocent. Now someone needs to get a message to Lancelot, that his king wants his first knight back in his service. Should he be harmed or killed... the one, or ones responsible will answer to agents of Avalon,” Rasalas said.

Arthur could nod grimly. Rasalas had summed up what he wanted to say perfectly.

Those loyal to Mordred, meanwhile, looked to him, as if to ask, 'Do we follow his order?'

“Don't look to him, he's not your king. Arthur is,” said Rasalas, focusing on one of them, “It seems, some of you have forgotten that fact. It is Arthur who wields Excalibur. It is Arthur who wears the crown as high king. No one here has the right to act in his stead. NO ONE. Doing so, you defy him and all Britain stands for.”

“Hear hear!” Bedwyr shouted, slapping his hand on the table. It was rapidly copied by the majority of knights present.

Arthur, meanwhile, found his voice. “Thank you, Rasalas, for saying something I have lacked courage to say for some time.

“Our greatest battle draws near, six weeks from now. No matter what you may think of me, all of you have a duty to this land and its people. We must unite and resist the dire threat the Saxons now represent.”

“Unite under a King who is cuckolded and mocked by his own wife and his chief companion? I think not,” said Mordred, viciously. “The Saxons will taunt you with it when you take the field against them.”

“So? Taunts and rants have no meaning from the enemy,” said Rasalas, dismissively, “And again, it comes down to a 'he said, he said'. All I see, is a man having a go at an honorable knight. I know Lancelot. He has a lot more integrity than to betray his king and best friend. You know not their history.”

“It matters not—m” the knight challenged.

“I think it matters a great deal. That he is an agent of Avalon being beside the point, he stood with all of you two decades prior. Yet, all of you would believe some contrived tale, rather than allow him the benefit of doubt.

“Send word to him, his king needs him, as do his friends from Avalon. And as I again point out, should he be harmed, those responsible will find out why it's not wise to piss off an agent of Avalon.”

“You claim to be an agent of Avalon?” Mordred sneered.

“As sure as Viviane appeared to you short years ago,” Rasalas answered.

Now, Mordred could not disguise his shock. Absolutely no one knew of that, save for Viviane. How—

“I have ability,” Rasalas answered, before the question was even voiced. “Viviane and your mother have been amazing teachers. It's a shame you turned down offer. You too could have been an agent of the magical isle.

“Instead, you travel on a path of revenge. Revenge against who? Your mother? Your father? Viviane? The goddess herself?”

Rasalas thought a moment, then glanced at his watch. “We have a different meeting to attend. But I leave you with this thought. It's a quote I heard somewhere. ' _Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves._ '”

* * *

Mordred was unsettled for the remainder of the day. The encounter with the dark-haired knight had been most uncomfortable. It was as if Mordred were an open book in front of him, and it was... unnerving, to say the least. Of course, it made sense that he was able to read people, considering where he was getting lessons. Quite honestly, he hoped it would be some time before he had to face Sir Rasalas again.

Unfortunately, his hopes were dashed shortly after he fell asleep late that evening. He was rudely reawakened feeling his entire bed be lifted up and slammed back down to the floor. Reaching for his sword, it was snatched out of reach by an invisible hand. Now, he found a ghostly figure standing at the foot of the bed, his sword floating nearby.

“I think our conversation of earlier was cut short a little. Though I only have a little to add. Quite simple, really. We have business here at Camelot on occasion. My friends have business here, on invitation of your king—your father. Interfere, and I will make your life VERY unpleasant.”

Mordred was shocked. Only a few people knew who his father really was. How did this man know? Though angered by the unveiled threat, the question still overrode other thoughts, and so he posed it.

“I'm an agent of the goddess, at her request. My business here is limited, as my ultimate battle lays elsewhere. However, gaining training required my contacting your mother and your aunt here.”

“A battle that lies elsewhere?”

“I cannot say further. Thing is, Mordred, you have the power of Avalon coursing through your veins, and you refused to train it. You could have been one of us. Instead you threw it away in anger over your conception.

“Sure, it was twisted. Thing is, there are far worse situations than that, you have to agree. Tell me I'm wrong.”

“Perhaps. Yet, I was fashioned as one would craft tools, nothing more!”

“Yet, the goddess brought you into the world. Ever wonder why? Arthur would have embraced you as his son, had you given him the chance. Instead, you bring lies, deceit, and treachery.”

Mordred narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Just to say this. I know exactly what you're all about. I've dealt with more than a few of your type before. You give me a reason, and I'll see you burn. And not in the physical sense, that's too easy.

“No, I'll ruin you, see you banished just as you drove Lancelot from Arthur. And thing is, I know it came from you. You had your spies watching Glastonbury for months. Just as you plan on re-installing them there, now that Arthur is calling Lancelot back—and plotting my death, I promise you, will backfire rather spectacularly.”

Mordred's eyes widened. He was only just thinking on the idea. How was it—no one had that sort of power!

“I wield magic just a little differently,” Rasalas grinned. “Just as I'm speaking to you now... though you've experienced that before with Viviane. She taught me this. It's made addressing enemies much easier, knowing I can lash out without fear of harm.

“So just to be clear. No plots, no harassment of Arthur's loyal companions or other. No harassing me or Brady—he won't take kindly to it either. Keep to those rules, we'll get along just fine.”

Rasalas smirked a moment, before flicking a finger at Mordred.

“Before you are seen, you might want to check a mirror.” He then faded from view... exactly as had Viviane years prior.

There was no mirror in the room, but, a large bowl of water rested on a table, meant for washing ones' face. That would do. And, staring into the reflection, he had to bite down a growl of rage, seeing the word 'MORON' stenciled across his forehead in dark red letters. The word's meaning escaped him, but it likely wasn't anything kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: More power plays on the part of Rasalas/Harry, and within England, as people react to Fudge's behaviour. More training, and of course, more friction._   
>  _CHAPTER NOTES: So, the story's moving along again, although rather slowly. Still plenty of distractions that keep me from writing. Still, the story is most definitely not abandoned, I do have a clear plan on where I'm going with this, so just bear with me._   
>  _As for Harry's first interaction with Mordred, it sort of went as I envisioned it, and most definitely, they aren't going to get along very well. Harry sees right through him, and it'll drive him crazy._   
>  _Then we have the craziness with the ministry. We know Fudge isn't all there—canon fifth year anyone? Or end of 3rd year, or end of 4th year, for that matter. Oh but wait until you see what Harry's gonna do with him... it's precious._


	51. Power Plays II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _More power plays on the part of Rasalas/Harry, and within England, as people react to Fudge's behaviour. More training, and of course, more friction._

**312: POWER PLAYS, II  
April/May, 2007**

  
_"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."_  
_\- Abraham Lincoln_  


* * *

As it neared the end of April, training had finally resumed at Avalon. Rasalas was more than glad to get back to some sort of routine, given the chaos of the past month. Or of the past few months, if he were honest.

Now that Brady had a strong handle of Avalon magic, he was introduced to astral projection, with both Rasalas and Viviane as instructors. Arthur and Accolon, meanwhile, continued to work with Morgaine.

Accolon was picking things up rather quickly, while Arthur continued to struggle. It was a source of frustration for Rasalas, and he again made a note to speak with Bill about the matter. It was as if the king were cursed in some way. Considering Gwenhwyfar had been cursed by Morgause, who only knew what other treachery was afoot, carrying far beyond what had been written. No question, Bill needed to be consulted on the matter, sooner rather than later.

Back in Britain, public sentiment was turning against Fudge and his unfavorable policies. With the government admitting Voldemort had returned, and having done absolutely nothing during his attack on Hogwarts, then finally, publicly banning the savior of the Wizarding world from returning home, he was making no friends.

In fact, a movement was afoot to hold a vote of non-confidence when the Wizengamot sat next. That next session was scheduled for the first week of May—a double-edged sword perhaps, as it would allow Fudge time to bolster his supporters, perhaps defeat the motion. Thing was, it was equal time for his opponents to do the same. No question, though, the desire for a change was growing.

For the time being, Rasalas remained silent on the issue, on the advice of Kate. Focus on the matters directly in front of him for now, she had said, when asked on the issue.

* * *

_April 30, 2007_

With it being both Aaron's birthday, and the Beltane rite, lessons at Avalon were cancelled for the next two days. Like the previous spring, Ryan's house had a different feel to it, though, somewhat dimmed. No surprise, considering the home's owners had suffered a great loss less than a month ago.

Still, Casey had once again been up since dawn, preparing the house for the semi-annual blessing. As had been the case the year last, Kreacher was helping out—Rasalas was surprised he had just done so without being asked.

Also as had been the practice the previous spring, Aaron was given most of his birthday gifts at lunch time, as there would be no opportunity at or after dinner. And, without Ryan's father around, many things he would have taken care of as far as the heavy lifting was concerned, now fell to Ryan.

Ryan was for the most part aware of the many things his father did around the household. Now being thrust into that role, it only reinforced the massive hole left by his father's absence. There had already been a couple of discussions with his mother about the shop and the business, and though neither of them had come to a concrete conclusion, both were in agreement that Phil was the soul of the business—never mind his knowledge and experience. Without those, the quality of the work would slip, a death blow to any business. And, given it was a non-magical business, using magic was not an option.

If anything, the whole idea of magic was leaving a bad taste in the young man's mouth. For everything good and wonderful he'd seen, it was tempered with one disaster or another which caused some massive disruption or other: Dumbledore invading the property, Rasalas' visions, Sirius' death, the Weasley's parents' deaths, and for him specifically, his father's death. All magic had brought him was emotional stress and pain. It was the unsaid reason for him not returning to Avalon. He'd pushed Aaron to continue, but like always, his boyfriend and best friend stood by his side. “You need me by your side now more than ever,” he'd said.

Now, as it grew later in the day, he was finding it more difficult to focus, as he carried out a number of preparations that had would have been looked after by his father had he still been around. Even with the others helping, it still did nothing to soothe the emotional stress.

As they were readying the wood for the bonfire on the concrete pad, he finally broke.

“I c-c-c-can't do it,” he declared. “I j-j-just can't.”

“Ryan. It's cool. We got this,” said Aaron, trying to soothe him.

“N-no, it's not! Everything I'm d-d-doing, it's l-l-like I'm w-w-walking in his s-s-s-shoes. I c-c-can't.” He yanked off his cap and frantically rubbed at his eyes.

“Ryan. Go take a break. It's okay,” said Rasalas, “We understand.”

“How _c-c-can_ you know?!” Ryan shot back, “Y-y-y-you never... y-y-you never _knew_ y-y-your parents! Th-th-they w-w-w-were g-g-g-gone before you _c-c-c-could_ know them!”

“That ain't fair,” said Brady, before Rasalas could answer.

“NO! _Th-th-this_ ain't fair!” Ryan all but bellowed, “D-d-da's gone, all b-b-because of stupid m-m-magic! I w-w-wish you n-n-n-never _c-c-c-came_ here!!”

He stormed off back toward the house, the air crackling with energy as he went. Rasalas could almost see the cloud forming over his head(1).

“I'll calm him down,” Aaron promised, before hurrying off after him.

Rasalas let out a sigh. “Can't blame him. Before I showed up, as far as he knew, he was just a normal guy.”

“He ain't got a right to rail at 'ya though,” said Brady, “He's still got his mom. You ain't got no—”

Rasalas scowled, and gave him a swat. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Both of us knew that was comin'. Ryan ain't been with us much since it all went down back at the beginning of the month.”

“I know. And likely that won't change much. Even without the business, Ryan's been broken by the dark side of magic. And since magic's pretty much a new experience, he can get along without it.

“Me, it's a deep part of me, something I won't ever be able to just cut out of my life completely. It's second nature—very difficult to get on without using it.”

Brady seemed to think a moment before answering. “Me, I dunno. I've gotten used to it.”

“We both have purpose. We're knights, Arthur's companions, agents of Avalon. Ryan and Aaron were along for the ride, but... perhaps this isn't the path that was meant for them. Perhaps the Goddess...”

“Or God—”

“Or God, yeah,” Rasalas agreed, “All of us have a path. We just have to find it, right?”

“Yeah, somethin' like that.”

“Thing is, Ryan and his mum are dear friends, and no matter what, I'll be there. Damn close to being family at this point. Putting me up after my... accident or whatever. I could've ended up back in England, back under Dumbledore's thumb.

“Instead, we have a chance to make some real changes back in Wizarding Britain. Maybe get Dumbledore to see the bigger picture. It's a chance I won't let slip by. That's my purpose, my path.”

“'an 'ya know I got your back in all this, just as much as Arthur.”

“I know. Well come on, let's get this finished up...”

They didn't see Ryan nor Aaron until dinner time. Much as had been the case back during Yule and Christmas, the meal was held in the sanctuary's dining room, rather than the Sawyers'. With the number of people attending, it just made more sense, rather than messing around with the size of the room, and potentially doing damage to non-magical items in the home.

Like at Yule, Morgaine joined them, and this time, so did her Aunt. Then, as an additional surprise, several knights joined them from the castle. Rasalas had to enlarge the table to accommodate everyone. If the wards permitted entry, then there was no issue—they were all loyal to Arthur.

The meal over, and the scraps from the plates tossed out into the yard for the birds, the large gathering then moved to the concrete pad where the bonfire had been set up, though it still needed to be lit. This time it was Kreacher arranging the large metal pot on a stand at the edge of the logs. Aaron gave Ryan's shoulder a squeeze in support, and the tall ginger seemed to relax a little.

“Arthur, it would be our request that you light our bonfire,” said Casey.

“It would be an honour, madam Sawyer.”

It took only a couple of tries with the flint and steel before the fire took hold.

“Join hands,” said Casey. 

The gathering quickly did as asked, though taking a step back from the heat.

“The wheel once again turns, and we cycle into the light. Though our hearts are heavy with the loss of kin, we still rejoice with your protection through the darkness, and ask for your continued blessings of our home, our kin, our friends, and our bounty.

“We accept the challenges you placed before us as a chance to grow and learn, and welcome both the blessings and the lessons you you have planned for us. Grant us the wisdom to learn, grow, and change, and the strength to carry through during those lessons.”

“Great m-mother, I w-w-w-once again ask y-y-y-you for the strength and w-w-wisdom during this d-d-difficult time. I know th-th-th-this is a lesson, but... help me to get through this. I still n-n-needed my D-d-da, w-w-why did you t-take him from me?!”

Aaron again reached up and gripped Ryan's shoulder in support, and he fell silent.

“A year has come and gone,” said Rasalas, “I have seen much, and have learned much, great goddess, thanks to your unseen guidance.

“I echo Ryan's words that you grant all of us strength in these troubling times, as we face down darkness and evil from two distinct sources. Help us to bring the light to the darkness, whether it be within our own hearts, or from afar. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” came some voices, while others spoke, “Blessed be.”

“Amen,” said Brady, Corey, and their mother.

Once again, as it had the previous spring, the fire seemed to flare up to nearly twice its height, this time lasting for nearly ten seconds, before settling down. With it, a terrific surge of energy raced out in all directions.

Casey, Ryan, Rasalas, and Arthur all bowed their heads a moment, while both Viviane and Morgaine pressed their thumbs to their forehead, and bowed. The great mother had once again touched them all.

“Merlin's beard,” said Marcus, “That was awesome.”

Viviane smiled warmly. “You felt the goddess. She has touched each and every one of us here tonight.”

“And I thought last year's celebration was intense,” said Rasalas, as he watched some of the knights helping to arrange chairs so people could sit down.

“Do remember, many years ago, an entire village would take part in this. The ritual would bring fortune and good crops through until the fall,” said Casey.

“Though these celebrations are getting fewer and fewer,” said Morgaine, “With the interference of the church. I have heard tales of villages being afraid to carry out the ritual, fearing reactions from the priests.”

“Which is why our world is coming apart. So many people disenfranchised by the entire concept of religion. There are so many now who believe in nothing,” said Casey, “And with the way we're destroying the planet itself...”

“Without the healing magic of these rituals, yes, the earth itself may well die,” said Viviane. “Tell me, how has the ground around here felt in the past year?”

Casey seemed to think a moment. “Since Rasalas has been here, it's felt easier to carry out rituals and the few rites I still practice.”

“You're able to tap into the magic of the ground easier, because of these very rituals,” said Viviane.

“And continued practice will only amplify the effect,” Arthur guessed.

“Very much so, yes,” Morgaine agreed.

“While discontinuing the practice allows the ambient magic to fade.”

“Which is why it's more difficult to practice magic in some places,” Rasalas realized, “Even with a wand.”

“Exactly. Though less of an issue for someone with a magical core, it is more pronounced with someone who does not.”

“If it is possible for the ambient magic of the earth to be amplified...” Arthur had to think a moment before continuing, “Is it possible... is there a way by which the earth's magic may be _suppressed_?”

Viviane frowned. “Yes, there are ways, though doing so would be a terrible thing.”

“Wouldn't stop a dark wizard though, now, would it?” said Brady, “'an I'd be useless magic-wise.”

“And therein would be the purpose,” said Accolon, as they settled into a group of seats. “Though knowing of your skill with non-magical tools and weapons, by no means would you be either defenseless, or of little consequence to the enemy.”

“You'd be in the same boat,” said Rasalas.

“It only means falling back on skill I have long trained,” said Accolon, “You must remember, training the sword begins early for all of us, back to when we were still boys. A young boy not training the sword is unheard of.”

“And likewise, many of us also have skill with the bow,” said Cai, “These are necessary skills in our world, one cannot live safely without.”

Rasalas gave a nod. “Yeah, there's a lot of people alive today who wouldn't make it very far back at Camelot. Or at least, not far outside the city proper.”

“Even within the city proper grows dangerous,” said Bedwyr, joining the conversation. Both Dobby and Kreacher were then dolling out mugs of the Caudle, now sufficiently warmed by the fire.

“Ah, the bandits and other lowlife thuggery. No surprise it permeates within Camelot,” said Arthur, “Such rabble was less of a problem twenty years ago.”

“With Mordred taking no interest in solving such issue, it will only grow worse, sire.”

“Rasalas and I have been discussing means of removing the man from Camelot without much upheaval. It is known to me that most are still loyal to me. It is the minority who still cause concern.”

“If we have numbers, sire, then those who side with Mordred can also be driven from Camelot,” said Bedwyr.

“It would pain me to do so. Just as I could not send a party after Lancelot, I would not have companions fight amongst one another. I would see all of us reunited against a common foe.”

“Arthur, you know that may not be possible,” said Rasalas, “There are some completely blind to Mordred's intent. I'm positive you'll end up killing at least some.”

“And it will have to be done. Sire, this has continued because you have permitted it to. You are our king, our leader, but you have all but surrendered to this little demon who takes your place in all but name.”

“And with a battle with the Saxon threat nearing, such actions must be carried out sooner than later,” Cai added.

“This I know. I ask just a little more patience, as I must understand a few more things before Mordred is dealt with.”

Rasalas smirked. “Well, we could neuter him in his sleep. And warn him that should he continue being a little shit, we'll continue to remove other body parts. I mean, a man can live without his balls... and just one kidney... missing fingers, toes, a leg, hand, arm... you get the picture.”

He grinned again, seeing the uncomfortable looks he was getting from the gathering. It was followed up by guffaws and throat-clearing.

“Jesus Christ Ras, where'd that come from?” Brady wanted to know.

“Who says I can't be inventive when it comes to consequences?”

“Sir Rasalas, remind me to never cross swords with you,” said Bedwyr, still looking rather uncomfortable.

As it grew later, most of the guests began to leave, with Viviane and Morgaine departing for Avalon, thanks to Fawkes. Finally, it was a much smaller group that remained, consisting of Rasalas, Brady, Arthur, Accolon, Cai, Ryan, and Aaron. Casey had moved up to the deck under the gazebo, along with Betty.

“Ras, d-d-dude. I'm s-s-sory for being an ass earlier.”

“Don't worry about it. You have every right to be pissed. Remember how I was after Sirius was killed... I know how it feels, even if I didn't have Sirius very long. It still destroyed me inside. And it still hurts, and it probably will for a long time.”

“Thing is, you got all of us here,” said Aaron, “Not like we're going anywhere anytime. And you know, I'll always be there for you. I promise.”

“Th-thanks man. Uh... Aaron suggested it after... b-b-but I think it's a good idea. C-c-could you get hold of Theresa for me?”

“I'll fire-call her first thing,” said Rasalas. “Glad that you're wanting to talk to someone. Better than letting it build up inside. That's what you've been doing, right?”

“Yeah. Didn't realize it, but... S-s-she was helpful a few weeks ago, b-b-b-but...”

“Admitting you need help does not make you weak,” said Arthur.

“It makes 'ya honest,” said Brady.

“Will we expect the pair of you back at Avalon any time soon?” asked Accolon.

“N-n-n-no,” Ryan answered, “S-s-s-still a lot of shit with the b-b-business. M-ma's still not sure if we close it f-f-f-for good or r-r-rebuild. And r-r-really, I'm not D-da. So much shit I ain't got a clue how t-t-to do, right?”

“You must take care of yourself and your family first. If this is a private question, you do not have to answer... but... are you and your mother well enough off that closing the business is a viable option?” questioned Arthur.

“Yeah, w-w-we've got enough money, if th-th-that's what you mean. Nothing like w-w-w-what Ras has, but... not m-much would change, really.”

“And you know, if you need anything, I'll always help, no matter what it is. It's what a friend does,” said Rasalas.

Just then, there came two distinct pops near the house. Everyone stood up, ready to produce wands or swords, but Rasalas realized it was unnecessary. It was Auror Jackson, along with a sharply dressed individual. They hurried over.

“Lord Peverell and...” Jackson muttered something under his breath, now realizing the contingent present.

“Is... is everything all right?” Rasalas questioned.

“Not exactly,” said Jackson, “This is Stan Dickson, from the Improper Use of Magic Office.”

“Which one of you is Ryan Sawyer?” Dickson questioned, gruffly. The man was short, and wiry, probably the shortest person there, if he had to guess off hand. He reminded Rasalas of a weasel for some reason.

“M-m-me, sir,” Ryan answered.

“At exactly eight-forty-six this evening, magical detectors in both Bowmanville and Newcastle were triggered by a strong surge of magical energy. My office, as well as the DMLE have been investigating the source of the event, and have traced it back to this residence.

“You are aware that casting magic in a manner that is detectable by non-magical people is a criminal offense, yes?”

“Was the event such that non-magical people detected it?” Arthur questioned.

“Ontario Hydro is addressing a number of power outages within the ripple radius. There have also been a number of unusual incidents all within the past feew hours—electronics malfunctioning, light bulbs exploding, for example.

“Point being, there was a blatant magical event from this residence on this night, which has directly affected the local non-magical population. This is in contravention of section 13 of the International Statute of Secrecy.”

“Is he being detained?” Rasalas questioned, waving toward the deck, and getting Casey's attention.

“Well...”

“Mr. Sawyer is gon' keep his mouth shut 'till Ras' attorney gets here, is what happens next,” said Brady.

Rasalas gave a nod, readily agreeing with Brady. “I'll be right back.”

Rasalas popped away, and the official's jaw dropped. “He just... he just... holy hell, what... what's going on here?!”

“As I tried to explain to you at least a dozen times already, Stan, the property has a number of exemptions,” said Jackson.

“Exemptions?! He just Disapparated in front of let me see... one, two, three... four, five... six, SEVEN Muggles!! Seven violations of section sixteen of the Statute!” Dickson, sounding outraged.

“Uh... Mrs. Sawyer doesn't count,” said Aaron, “Parent and all.”

“Aaron. Remain silent,” said Arthur, “I believe Miss Lewis will be able to clear up the matter rather quickly.”

“What happened?” Casey questioned, hurrying over. Betty remained up on the deck.

“The ministry being... w-w-weird, Ma,” Ryan answered, “Gotta be the f-f-first time we got any t-t-trouble for this.”

“Trouble?”

“Are you the homeowner?” Dickson questioned, sharply.

“She declines to answer,” said Arthur, “Rasalas is summoning his solicitor and we will remain silent on matters until she arrives.”

Casey pursed her lips, not liking that answer. However, she quickly assumed it was a legal matter involving her son. Though it concerned her, she could see things were somewhat in hand, and if Rasalas was fetching Miss Lewis...

About five minutes after, Rasalas reappeared, bringing Kate and an assistant. The assistant had a portfolio slung over his shoulder.

“All right. What have I walked into this—Mr. Dickson. I should have known. Still harassing first-gen magicals, I see.” 

Kate's demeanor had changed in an instant, all but telling the group she'd had run-ins with this bureaucrat on more than one occasion.

“Now see here, Miss Lewis—”

“Mr. Sawyer and his family, as well as Lord Peverell, and Mr. Gibson and his family, all fall under my purview. I do hope you have a reason for harassing my clients.”

“Charges under sections thirteen and sixteen of the International Statute of Secrecy, Miss Lewis,” answered Dickson, smugly, “We have dozens of Muggle records, damage to Muggle infrastructure, records from the sensors as far east as Newcastle, far west as Bowmanville... there hasn't been a statute breach this severe since... well, the flying car in London back in 2001!

“Mr. Peverell—”

“That's Lord Peverell to you,” said Arthur, “Given this is official business, not recognizing his title is impolite in the least.”

Rasalas caught the glint in the official's eye. He wasn't here for the 'greater good'. No, he was only interested in making trouble, making a name for himself. Kate, meanwhile, was pulling a folder out of her assistant's portfolio.

“Mr. Dickson, this property has been under ministry watch and protection since November of 2005. It has had Auror guard 'round the clock since then. Tell me, then, why is it that there has been no charges filed against my clients until now?”

“Well they haven't been caught until now!” Dickson snapped.

“If you had listened to what I was telling you earlier, the property has an exemption. You do know that tonight is Beltane, correct?” questioned Jackson.

“You're telling me this incident came as a result of a religious observance?”

“For the fourteenth time, yes, Mr. Dickson,” said Jackson.

“And the next bit will really blow your mind,” said Aaron, “Mrs. Sawyer conducted the ritual, without an ounce of magic in her.”

“B-b-b-but she's a Muggle!!”

“So? Maybe she's more in tune with magic than you are,” said Rasalas, viciously.

“Mr. Dickson, I'm again being very clear here. Both the Sawyers and Lord Peverell have a wide exemption on their property. Additionally, there is an Auror detail present. Considering they haven't arrested anyone, what conclusion do you draw from that?”

“That perhaps they should be checked for the Imperious curse!?” Dickson shot back, “I'm filing paperwork with the DMLE. Outrageous, outlandish...” He turned on heel and vanished with a noisy _pop_.

“Bloody moron,” Rasalas muttered, “Let's take this back to the sanctuary. Should've thanked him for ruining my night and all.”

“No need. I'll get in contact with Mr. Young, let him know what's happened. I'll need some pensieve memories so I can show him what went on—”

“This was a private event, Miss Lewis,” said Casey.

“Not anymore. Unless you want to risk your son being slapped with a heavy fine at a minimum. Worst case, they could drag you in front of a judge.”

Rasalas let out a huff, before producing a vial from his pouch. He touched his index finger to his right temple, and pulled out a short thread of a gassy-looking substance, and let it drop into the vial, before placing the cork on it.

“Try and keep the number of viewings to a minimum. This was a private event.”

“You have my word. It'll only be shown to a few people,” Kate promised.

Jackson, meanwhile, helped both Aaron and Ryan produce a pensieve memory, and secured them in two additional vials.

“That should be sufficient. Now before we get going. This is Chris Talbot. He was just promoted to senior assistant, so you'll likely be seeing him often with me.”

As the fire had died down, it was more difficult to see the man's features. He was about Rasalas' height, with an average build.

“Now, Chris, this is Ryan Sawyer, and of course, Sir Rasalas Peverell.”

“The former Harry Potter. A pleasure, sir,” said Chris, offering a hand. Rasalas readily shook it.

“I'm doing my best to bury that name.”

“And we'll continue to help you do so. Now let's see if I can get everyone else. Uh, Sir Gibson, and Sir Accolon, Sir Cai, and your majesty. An honour and a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” said Arthur, as that spurred another round of handshakes.

“My M-ma, Casey,” Ryan introduced.

“Pleasure, ma'am. Uh... Kate, we gotta get back, before that ministry twit gets ahead of us,” said Chris.

“Right. We'll be by sometime in the morning with an update.” With that, both Kate and Chris vanished with a soft pop.

Rasalas sucked in a breath and blew it out. “Charlie-foxtrot,” he muttered.

* * *

_PEVERELL AND SAWYER FACE FINES,_

_Broke Statute of Secrecy Monday during unknown ritual_

_**Toronto (AWP):** _ _Canada's Misuse of Magic Office levied a 1,000G fine on Wednesday, after a review of evidence presented by Kate Lewis, solicitor for the accused. “Although Lord Peverell and Mr. Sawyer do have several exemptions in place that cover their properties, they still have no right to blatantly disrupt the lives and activities of our non-magical counterparts,” said DMLE head Jerry Young. “Though there have been a number of incidents we have overlooked in the past year and a half, there is a point where a message must be sent. The incident [on Monday] was that point.”_

_Reaction in London, meanwhile, was sensational, as the English Ministry of Magic used this event to further vilify Lord Peverell, with a close aid to the minister declaring, “This demonstrates the depravity of [Lord] Peverell, showing exactly his view of Wizarding law as a whole, and only Vindicates our position stating he and his band of lawbreakers are no longer welcome within the Magical United Kingdom...”_

_Acting DMLE Head John Dawlish noted, “Both of them would have been sent off to Azkaban, titles be damned. The law is the law, and all must be held to the same standard, no matter the title or pedigree. It demonstrates our friends across the pond still lack fortitude when dealing with law-breaking. Of course, with such impure blood, what else can be expected, but sub-par standards?”_

_Canadian Minister of Magic Craig Burton expressed outrage at Dawlish's comments posted in the Daily Prophet this morning, this according to Beverley Thompson, Minister Burton's Press Secretary. “The minister is preparing an official response to the inflammatory remarks made by Mr. Dawlish this morning, but let me express great disappointment in our colleagues across the Atlantic, that they continue to act like first-graders, rather mature adult witches and wizards...”_

_Lord Peverell, meanwhile, released a statement saying, “It was a private family function at which we practiced the Beltane rite. The magical energy release was perhaps a little stronger than expected, resulting in the incident which inconvenienced about a thousand non-magical people in the area._

_If we could issue an apology to all those affected by our event, we would, but my solicitor tells me that might get me in more hot water with the Misuse of Magic Office. So I do offer apologies to the ministry and those who were called into action on Monday evening, and we will do our best to ensure this is not repeated in the fall during Samhain._

_On the suggestion of my solicitor, I have requested that the fine be offered to Upper Canada Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, so the healers continue to be equipped with the best tools and equipment. If I have to pay a fine, then let it go where it can help the most.”_

_Full text of Mr. Young's remarks, Page 8_

_Full text of Miss Thompson's remarks, Page 8_

_The Statute of Secrecy: Are you unknowingly breaking the law? Page 12_

_Not Lord Peverell's first run-in with the Statute, Page 4_

* * *

_STAFF SHUFFLE AT IMPROPER USE OFFICE_

_One official reassigned, one promoted_

_Stanley Dickson, a twelve-year member of the staff and senior manager, has been reassigned to the position at the regional office in Yellowknife, while Lee-Anne McCormick has been promoted to replace him. Mrs. McCormick had little to say regarding the promotion, other than she was delighted to have been chosen for the position, and promising to do her absolute best, and run the office with fairness and integrity._

_Mr. Dickson, meanwhile, issued a short statement saying, “I will miss Toronto, but look forward to the changes and the different challenge that comes with working out of a smaller region. I wish my colleague all the best as she steps into my shoes.”_

Rasalas gave a vicious smirk as he tossed the paper on the table. “Close to the North Pole as they can get it I s'pose. Would've been more fun had they sent him to Antarctica.”

“Do I detect a bit of malice there, Sir Peverell?” Arthur questioned, with a smirk of his own.

“Perhaps. Just maybe Dickson will think next time, before being an ass to people with far more power than him.”

“You didn't—” Aaron began.

“There were a few people higher up in the DMLE who didn't like the man and his attitude, whether it be toward Sir Peverell, or to a good number of witches and wizards whose file came across his desk,” said Kate. “Mr. Young finally had enough of his rubbish, and sent him where he won't bother anyone.”

“How many witches 'an wizards live in Yellowknife?” Corey wondered. It was infrequent that he visited the inner part of the sanctuary, but this was one occasion.

“Outside of ministry personnel? A hundred, maybe,” said Chris.

“So you're talking something equivalent to the Centaur Liaison Office,” said Bill.

It was lunch time, and so the sanctuary was rather busy with people getting something to eat, and getting an update to the situation.

“If he lasts six months, it'll be a surprise,” said Kate, “And I can say good riddance. I've faced his nonsense on more than a dozen occasions.”

“What's the Centaur Liaison Office?” Corey wondered.

“It's a dead-end position at the ministry, since no centaur has ever used the office's services since its inception,” Bill explained, “I remember dad saying once, that ' _Being sent to the Centaur Office_ ' is ministry jargon for a person's who's about to be sacked.”

“It just me, or did that man not remind us of Umbridge?” Rasalas questioned.

“The male version, you mean. I can see the parallel, yes.”

“Guy w-w-w-was on a power trip, is what that was.”

“My thoughts exactly. Thing is, it's over and done, with two days burned that could have been spent more constructively. It's too late to go to Avalon today. Unfortunate I can't bill people for wasted time,” Rasalas muttered.

* * *

With the arrival of May, also arrived the warm weather, and with that, Rasalas uncovered the pool, much to Ryan and Aaron's delight. Considering most of the pool's maintenance was done magically, there was really very little that needed to be done to get it into usable shape.

In fact, it took only a couple of hours to get the cover stowed away, the water topped up, and the filter equipment up and running again. Both Ryan and Aaron welcomed the distraction, as they lent a hand with that aspect. Rasalas was still not entirely confident on the machinery side of things. “I'll let the experts handle it,” he'd said.

Both Ryan and his mother had finally come to a decision regarding that business: that it close for good. Though it did mean that six people would lose their jobs, Ryan admitted there was just no way he could ever fill his father's shoes, and at nineteen, he was in no way qualified to take on such a business.

Kate and a number of interns were handling the legal side of things, communicating with the insurance company, and ensuring they followed through with the agreed on settlement set out in the policy. The business and its assets had been estimated to be worth several million, and so by no means were the Sawyers destitute with its loss. However, it did depend on the insurance company honouring the policy. Unfortunately for the insurance company, Kate and her firm were more than capable of getting a positive outcome.

* * *

_May 8, 2007_

As breakfast wrapped up just before the group left for Avalon, Rasalas heard the fire in the fireplace flare up.

“Sir Peverell?” came the voice of Amelia Bones.

Rasalas closed his eyes a minute, altering the access list.

“Come on through, madam Bones!”

There was a pause, then the fire roared loudly a second, and moments later, the former DMLE head stepped into the dining room.

“Good day to you, Sir Peverell, your majesty. Afraid we have a small problem.”

“What's happened?”

“As you know, the Wizengamot likes to sit at least once a month. The session typically lasts a few days, but can span a couple of weeks at times. Now, with the second week of May nearly in the books, the minister has made no move to convene it.”

“He knows he's finished,” said Aaron, “It's a stalling tactic.”

“The first motion that will be introduced is a non-confidence motion,” said Bones, “There is a widening majority of us, and it gets wider by the day longer he stalls.”

Arthur thought for a moment, before saying, “Considering sir Rasalas does have veto powers, I assume you have something in mind, Madam Bones.”

“Lord Peverell has ancestral rights to force the Wizengamot to convene. But I think we can take it one step further. If it is agreed that the membership is, or has been abusing its powers, it is possible for him to dissolve the membership outright.”

“Has that ever been done before?” Rasalas questioned.

“Not in three centuries, but yes.”

“And with the shit they pulled with him going on two years ago—” said Aaron.

“Yes, indeed,” Bones agreed, “His cousin was already aware of the magical world, and Lord Peverell was in a life-threatening situation. Both of the charges should have been dismissed outright.”

“Never mind the interference at Hogwarts,” said Rasalas, “A power-hungry ministry plant, using an instrument of torture on students. I mean, Umbridge is locked up in Azkaban, but... it shouldn't have happened in the first place.”

“Yes, agreed. And therein is your evidence,” said Bones, “Would you be willing to help out?”

“Bring down the government? Considering just the example above? Yeah. Though I have one request.”

“And that is?”

“Run for minister.”

“Lord Peverell...”

“I'll offer official support. Britain's magical community needs someone who is going to do what is truly best for it... not some lackey only in it for the prestige and the titles and other rubbish.

“One thing though. I want to be absolutely sure this is above-board and legal. I know Fudge is just looking for an excuse to charge me with something and send me off to Azkaban.”

“You have a solicitor, of course.”

“Yeah.”

“If I could meet with them—”

“Her,” Rasalas corrected her, “What sort of time frame for all of this?”

“A month, likely. Probably the first part of June at the earliest,” Bones answered. “An election requires at least forty-five days.”

“So an election day sometime in July.”

“Well, elections here last at least forty days,” said Aaron.

“When will this be done?” Arthur wondered.

“I can't say for certain. I'll make sure a message is sent when we're ready. I would like to make sure everyone in support is on the same page,” said Bones. “And just to be clear. We can count on your support?”

“Without question. It's time for Fudge to be shown the door,” said Rasalas, “Just send me a message of when and where, and equally important, the protocol.”

“I have someone working on that already. All right, I have to return to London.”

With that, she swept from the room, and moments later, there was a roar from the fireplace marking her departure.

“A little revolution in London. I like it,” Aaron smirked.

“Kickin' out the old boys club, more like it,” said Brady.

That had Rasalas smirking. “Kicking, yeah, with steel-toe-reinforced boots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Showdowns between Arthur and Mordred, Rasalas/Harry and the English Wizengamot, the departure of a friend and mentor, and Arthur's knights bring an urgent message involving the Saxons..._   
>  _So, Rasalas/Harry and his friends get into a little trouble with the Canadian ministry. Now you guys knew that was going to happen eventually, right? Still, it once again demonstrates the different mindset between the two countries. And, it also demonstrates that no, they're not always gonna let Harry and his friends get away with it._   
>  _Meantime, it looks like a revolution is brewing in merry ole England, with Bones and Peverell at the spearhead. Good times ahead, I did warn you, right?_   
>  _(1) Referencing the scene from the movie version of HBP, where Ron's so agitated in the great hall, it literally starts snowing on him. Accidental magic, perhaps?_


	52. Family Business II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas receives another unwelcome visit from Voldemort; Lancelot's return to Camelot forces both Arthur and Rasalas to take action to prevent bloodshed in the castle's courtyard; and Kate's ongoing investigation into the affairs of the Hogwarts headmaster summons Rasalas from training, forcing another Hogwarts professor into making a decision with immediate serious implications..._

**313\. FAMILY BUSINESS II  
May/June, 2007**

“ _Agitators are a set of interfering, meddling people, who come down to some perfectly contented class of the community and sow the seeds of discontent amongst them. That is the reason why agitators are so absolutely necessary. Without them, in our incomplete state, there would be no advance towards civilization.”_

_\- Oscar Wilde_

* * *

It had been yet another long morning, binding the magic of another fifteen Death Eaters held by the Ministry. Though not magically-taxing, the experience was mentally stressful, and so Rasalas needed a bit of time to recompose himself between cases. As had become the usual procedure, both Brady and Arthur joined Rasalas, with Marcus also along, keeping the record.

“God, that was more taxing than usual,” Rasalas remarked, as they left the conference room.

“Les' go flying,” Brady suggested.

“After lunch, but sounds good,” Rasalas agreed.

“Perhaps we could take lunch in Avalon, down at the water's edge,” Arthur suggested, “It has been some time since we have done so.”

Rasalas grinned. “I like the sound of that. Marcus, you're welcome to join us.”

Less than a half hour later, the four of them were set up at the edge of the lake in Avalon, a picnic lunch spread out, thanks to Dobby and Kreacher. As they ate, Rasalas could feel the calming effect of the island washing over him, taming the turbulent energy he'd arrived with. It wasn't the issue of it being draining, if he really thought about it—more like, being overcharged. Perhaps Viviane might have a suggestion on how to keep a lid on it without coming into Avalon—after all, there would come a time when Avalon wouldn't be an option. Of course, there were a finite number of captured Death Eaters left, so...

“Ras? You're starin' off into space,” said Brady, drawing his attention back to his friends.

“Wha... oh. Sorry.”

“You appeared lost in thought,” said Arthur.

“Thinking about the rituals I performed this morning. It's like being over-charged magically. I need to neutralize it, and guys, let's face it: coming here isn't always gonna be available.”

“Morgaine or Viviane might have a suggestion,” said Marcus.

“As I was thinking.”

“The outcasting rituals you have been performing... I have thought on what effect that might have against my son.”

“Arthur...”

“Sire, doing such a thing could have terrible consequences to the future— _our_ present,” Marcus cautioned.

“Likely won' be able to... God won't let it happen,” said Brady.

“Or the Goddess.”

“Let us assume a moment that the action is permitted. You all must understand, Mordred cannot ever rule over Camelot. He is a tyrant in every sense of the word.”

“Arthur, we know,” said Rasalas.

“Then we must be certain he can never gain complete control. I am aware that taking his life is out of the question, but some sort of action has to be taken.”

Rasalas sucked in a breath, and blew it out.

“There will come a time when your son will flee Camelot. When, I can't tell you. But it's coming soon. Thing is, when that time comes, you—and us... we have to be ready, because...”

“The Saxons will have arrived.”

“Exactly. And you know that we'll be right beside you when that time comes, the Goddess willing. Let's give this a bit more thought before we proceed though. We really don't need any further complications.”

“I worry for those who live at Camelot, Rasalas. Bedwyr has warned me of most disturbing spectacle taking place nightly in the castle courtyard, sights which become worse with passing days.”

Rasalas hummed. “Perhaps I need to visit the little shit in the small hours of the morning again, and convince him to curtail such behaviour.”

“Maybe we should see what he's up to,” Marcus suggested.

“Have there been any people hurt by the, uh, spectacle?”

“Up to now, no,” Arthur answered. “My knights believe it is only a matter of time.”

Rasalas gave a nod, already knowing the extent of Mordred's 'spectacles'. Thing was, there was no clear time line of escalation. Further, they had no right to interfere. As ghastly as it was, there was just no way around it; they were interfering with things far more than they should as it was.

“I'd like to storm into the place and put a stop to all of it, but all of you know we can't. We must keep our distance.”

“Well, we gon' go flyin' or what?” Brady asked, wanting to put the dark topic aside.

“Yeah. Enough of the dark rubbish for now, we spent the morning dealing with it. Kreacher?”

A soft pop announced the house elf's arrival.

“Is master Rasalas finished?” Kreacher asked.

“We are finished. If you could pack up what's left of our lunch, that would be great.”

“Of course, master.” Kreacher bowed low, and with a snap of his fingers, everything vanished.

Brady only shook his head.

“What?” Rasalas questioned.

“Jus' thinkin'. Christmas at our house a few years ago. Shame we couldn't just do that... y'know, just... snap your fingers and -poof-, i's done.”

“Is master Rasalas and his company needing anything further?” Kreacher asked.

“No. You can go back to the sanctuary.”

Kreacher bowed low again, and popped away.

“Right. Let's go flying...”

* * *

_Early hours, May 19, 2007_

It had been such a great dream. Rasalas was behind the wheel of the Sawyers' truck, with Arthur leaning up against him in the front seat, and Brady in the back seat, plucking out a melody on his guitar. Then darkness, the scene melting away, morphing into a chasm, an enormous serpent filling his vision, twisting, coiling—he found himself fighting to breathe, the binds constricting, tighter and tighter.

“Your efforts are... admirable, Harry,” came Voldemort's disembodied voice. “Nearly three quarters of my followers, silenced without your raising a wand. Not even my closest circle has been spared your wrath. Bella, Lucius, Yaxley...

“Yet, your effort will mean very little in time. My reach... extends beyond my existence. Something you will never truly understand. It is something perhaps even I did not properly take into account, when I faced your parents...”

“Fuck off, Tom,” Rasalas managed.

Voldemort clucked his tongue. “Tut, tut, such dreadful language. What would your parents think?”

“They'd tell... you... the same thing,” Rasalas ground out.

Swiftly, the coils relaxed, and Rasalas found he could breathe. “What do you want?”

“Only to visit my most precious possession, of course,” Voldemort mocked. “Wouldn't want you to incur an _accident_ , now, would we?

“You must know, had I known years ago, I would have taken steps to see you protected.”

Rasalas couldn't help but laugh. “Yeah, thanks. I think I was better with the Dursleys. Thank the Goddess I only have a few memories of my life with them. Still, having to put up with whatever rubbish you and your sycophant followers would have come up with... I likely would have offed myself.”

He felt the coils begin to tighten again, but they abruptly relaxed, and Voldemort let out a hiss. The chasm was fading, being replaced by the lawn at Avalon. Now Rasalas grinned.

“My name is Sir Rasalas Antares Peverell, Tom Marvolo Riddle. You are not in control here. _I am_. You do remember the last time you attempted to visit me, correct?”

The scene had completely changed now, the atmosphere working as a well of... joy. The serpent, an enlarged version of Nagini, hissed in anger, and slithered away, while Rasalas sat down on the lawn.

“Anything you wish to add, Tom, or will you be on your way? I mean, I'm confident the Goddess is likely on her way, and if she pulled me here, well, let's just say she won't be pleasant company.”

“You cannot hide behind Avalon forever, P-p-peverell,” Voldemort ground out.

“Care to bet on it?”

He was jolted awake, finding his lips locked with Arthur. His eyes widened a moment, but he only wrapped his arms around Arthur, thankful for what had been clearly an intervention.

They at last separated, and Arthur said, “You woke us both, twisting about. It was a bad dream?”

“Voldemort,” Rasalas answered.

“He visited 'ya again?” Brady questioned.

“Yeah. He tried to squeeze the life out of me with a Nagini look-a-like, then told me he would have took care of me instead of the Dursleys if he'd known sooner. I told him to go get bent.”

He blew out a breath. “At least we've been relatively lucky. Only the second 'visit' since we destroyed his body.”

“I think he fears you, Rasalas,” said Arthur, “Knowing you have both Avalon and the Goddess behind you, it is nothing to take lightly.”

“Prob'ly takes a lot out of i'm, visitin' 'ya, right? Fightin' against all your defences, 'an he's already weak, no body.”

“Yeah, I think that's exactly it, Brady. Now if we could just entice him to do it while we're at Avalon, it could quite possibly destroy him once and for all.”

“And that is quite likely what will happen,” said Arthur, “That in combination with drawing the Horcrux out of you.”

“He's concerned about keeping me alive.”

“No shit,” Brady agreed, “You die, so does he.”

“We have had this conversation a number of times already,” said Arthur, “Aunt Viviane will come up with a more sane solution.”

Rasalas sighed. Arthur was right. No sense in having the same conversation for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Right, guys. Since we're awake, we might as well get up and get started. No doubt Ryan and Aaron are already up as it is.”

Stepping into the sanctuary's dining room, they found a simple note left on the table. Rasalas scanned it, and frowned. “They're at Ryan's place.”

“Perhaps Ryan has had second thoughts,” said Arthur.

“No. Ryan wouldn't cancel the event last-minute. Not unless it was some sort of emergency,” Rasalas answered, as they passed through the door leading into Ryan's bedroom.

They could hear voices downstairs, and so headed for the dining room, and sure enough, they found the room busy with a number of people gathered around the table.

“'morning everyone,” Rasalas greeted. He took an open seat, with Arthur following suit, picking the one beside him.

“W-w-we know there's more room in the s-s-sancutary, but Ma wanted to make b-b-breakfast this morning.”

“It's all right. A change of scenery is nice, actually.”

Ryan gave a nod. “S-s-so the plan. Aaron and I will b-b-be running the steam t-t-tractor today, so you g-g-guys will need to run the train. The g-g-guy who helps with the tractor c-c-couldn't get today off. He'd already s-s-switched shifts with someone.”

“I think we can handle it,” said Rasalas, “It's not the first time. Beside the point, it's fun. Whole point of the exercise and all that.”

“There'll be four additional locomotives running today, five tomorrow, but likely only three on Victoria Day,” said Aaron.

“But if things go well today and t-t-t-tomorrow, we may see more,” Ryan threw in. He let out a sigh. “Goddess, this is g-g-gonna be hard. P-part of me s-s-still wants to cancel it.”

“We've talked about this already. Your dad would've wanted you to carry on in his place,” said Rasalas, “Do it in his memory.”

Ryan could only nod, knowing his friend was right. There had been plenty of discussion over the past month and a half about the Victoria Day weekend, whether to carry on with it or cancel, given the circumstances. In the end, they had chosen to host the event.

* * *

The three-day event proved to be one of the busiest yet, as the weather brought a taste of summer, with clear skies and warm temperatures. The final gate registered nearly four thousand visitors, the donation box being filled to overflowing on two of the three days. Monday night saw a wicked fireworks display, thanks to the twins—the fireworks had been tweaked to appear non-magical in nature, to prevent another visit from the Misuse of Magic office.

Monday had also been the busiest yet as far as the number of trains, as seven locomotives were on site, a first for the club. The event had attracted attention from several local television stations, which then meant sequestering Arthur and his fellow knights back in the sanctuary for a time during the afternoon.

With the fireworks over and the commercial crew beginning to pack up the rental tent and clean up the property, everyone retreated to Rasalas' back deck, where an ice chest of refreshments awaited.

“Th-thanks everyone for the help this w-w-weekend,” said Ryan, “No way we c-c-could have done it without.”

“Your father would be proud of you,” said Casey, “My word, never saw this weekend as busy. That said, we really do need to think about Labour Day.”

“Been speakin' with the promoter,” said Brady, “Longer we wait, we lose more acts, summer plannin' 'an all that.”

“I think given the success this weekend, we go ahead,” said Casey, “But we'll need the help.”

“Count on it,” said Rasalas, “And if we need it, I'm sure I can convince some of my friends to help out. I mean, count on the Weasleys being here again over the summer—and Fred and George have their shop in Toronto.”

“D-da left a lot of stuff to the promoter last year as it w-w-was,” said Ryan, “It's just—”

“We know, dear,” Casey finished.

“You have to carry on,” said Rasalas, “Your dad was very proud of you. I saw that from the first time I met him. You have some big shoes to fill, yeah, but goddess knows, you'll do it. You'll make it, and you'll be just fine.”

Ryan felt his eyes get damp, but he wiped them with the sleeve of his shirt, and sucked in a breath, then blew it out. “Thanks, m-man.”

“Besides, this stuff is still a lot of fun, right?” Aaron questioned.

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Otherwise I w-w-wouldn't do it.”

* * *

May 23, 2007

Though Brady had only been receiving instruction on Astral Projection for less than a month, Rasalas was surprised by how quickly he caught on to the concept. That morning, he was able to successfully transmit himself across the stone circle, and if anything, Rasalas felt a little bit of jealousy at how quickly his friend had progressed. Now question was, could he learn partial projection—

Rasalas' thoughts were interrupted, as Dobby arrived with a pop. He looked agitated.

“Sir Razzy, you and his majesty needed at Camelot, knights are fighting in the courtyard!”

“Bloody hell... everyone gather around,” Rasalas said, reaching into his pouch and pulling out a pie plate—he'd gotten into the habit of putting various pieces of junk into his pouch which he could then use to create port keys. He touched it with a finger, whispering, “ _Portus_.”

“Dobby, return to the sanctuary and close the door to the castle.”

“Right away, Razzy sir!” He popped away.

Seconds later, the port key activated, carrying Rasalas and his friends back to the castle. There, they found a tense standoff forming between knights still loyal to Arthur, and knights loyal to his son.

“What's going on?” Rasalas demanded, before Arthur got the chance.

“Since his majesty has no intention of carrying out justice concerning a traitor, we are acting in his stead!” one knight shouted.

“It's not your place to mete out justice!” Bedwyr shouted right back, “That power rests solely with the King and no one else.”

“A king in name only!” another shouted, “Cuckolded by his own wife, and he refuses to act! How can he expect the country to follow him, when he cannot and will not stand up for himself?!”

Now, Rasalas and his companions understood what was going on. He huffed, realizing all he'd said weeks earlier had fallen on deaf ears. He was getting tired of repeating himself. Really.

“Sir Lancelot?”

“Sir Rasalas!”

Lancelot pushed through the group of knights who had come to his aid, to stand in front of the group. “You... you have not changed a bit.”

“And you have aged two decades, sir knight. But we will catch up later.”

“Your majesty. F-forgive me.”

“It is forgiven, Lance,” answered Arthur, “I know you love Gwen as you love me.”

“It is mortal sin!” shouted yet another knight in Mordred's camp.

Rasalas huffed. “Even with King's blessing? I think it is Arthur's choice on the matter, not ours. And personally, I think the lot of you are behaving as traitors, rather than Sir Lance here. You swore your swords, your blood, and your very lives to your king. Rather than back him up, support him, you turn your back on him. You lot have divided the kingdom, leaving it wide open to terrible enemies that approach our shores.

“What happens when the Saxons land en mass? With all of you busy murdering each other, their conquest becomes rather easy, does it not?”

Whatever Rasalas was about to say was interrupted, by slow clapping, coming from the upper balcony which overlooked the courtyard.

“Questions very well put, Sir Rasalas,” said Mordred, “What will happen, when the Saxons come? Will they find Camelot divided, its belly exposed to their arrows and their blades? Or will they instead find a untied front, put forth by one leader?”

“And who will be that leader, I have to wonder?” Rasalas questioned. “What makes you think it should be you to carry that mantle? You have... at best... a third of the castle behind you. Just you, alone.

“I know the Lady of the Lake paid you a visit some time ago... before you came to Camelot. I know you rebuked her, turned your back on her. A tragic mistake if you ask me.”

“Is that so?”

“You could have received training in the art. Had both Viviane and the Goddess at your back, been given a chance to stand with us to oppose the threat to Britain. Instead, you come here with poison in your heart, which you then dump all over Camelot. With what intention? To drive your King away? What purpose does that serve, other than to hand Britain over to the barbarian horde?

“Quite frankly, that is exactly what will happen.”

“You have no proof of this!” yet another knight shouted.

“I have more than enough proof. Mordred has done nothing but poison the atmosphere here at Camelot, and I call out anyone who says otherwise.”

“Thing y'll are forgettin' here,” Brady spoke up, “Arthur's your king. End of story. His words are all that count here, 'an honestly, I don't get why he don' just execute the bunch of 'ya. In his place, it's what I'd do.”

That earned furious looks from many of the knights present. Arthur, meanwhile, seemed to ponder Brady's words. It had been far too long since he had properly asserted his authority. Perhaps no time like the present. He partially unsheathed Excalibur.

“Sir Mordred. Come before me.”

Rasalas felt uneasy. What was he doing? “Arthur?”

“There is something that I must do, and all of you shall bear witness.”

Mordred, meanwhile, felt the compulsion take hold. His own feet were betraying his thoughts, carrying him through the rooms, and down several flights of stairs. There was no escaping whatever his father held in store for him.

The rest of the gathered knights on both sides found themselves unable to move. The air tasted of oppressive magic, and now all knew, the magic of Avalon was at work. With Rasalas and Brady being agents of the magical isle, it should not have been a surprise.

Mordred at last found himself before his father. Arthur seemed to think a few moments, before coming to a mental decision about something.

“One gathers many regrets in a lifetime. Decisions that come back to haunt us all, at one point or another. However, a man can only act with the information in front of him—no matter _who_ he might be.

“This man before me... I welcomed him into my companionship willingly, believing him to be nothing less than an honorable man with honorable intentions. He came to us, warning of the Saxon danger, and for that, I do thank him.

“That said, none of his actions that followed have been honorable in any way. His actions have done nothing less than sow unrest and discord here at Camelot. My home, your home... has become a suffocating fortress, poisoned with fear and suspicion. All of this, lies at Mordred's feet.

“The words Sir Brady have spoken carry nothing but the truth. Perhaps I have been soft for some time, my heart and mind not being where it should be. Grieving for lost companions. Heartbroken with the loss of my wife. In hindsight, a great many things have been let slip, paving the road which led us to where we now stand.

“That ends here. Britain cannot survive with an absent ruler, nor can it survive with Camelot divided. This event unfolding here this morning, knight against knight, for what purpose? Murdering each other? You would strike down a brother?

“Meanwhile, this man who stands before me, silently laughs with mirth, enjoying the chaos he has sown. This is exactly what he has wanted, nothing more, nothing less. Tell me, Sir Mordred, how many times have you visited a forward camp on the coast, erected by our Saxon enemies?”

Mordred found himself answering, his mouth moving without mental permission. “Eight times since the winter.”

“Conspiring with the enemy. Now who's the traitor, Mordred?” Rasalas mocked. He turned to Arthur. “We cant kill him.”

“This I know. I will not murder family, no matter the brief immediate satisfaction I might gain.”

Arthur again briefly and partially unsheathed Excalibur.

“Sir Mordred of Orkney. By my order, you are henceforth and immediately relieved of all titles and duties. I expel you from the companions, also effective immediately.”

He felt something shift in his mind, as words began to form. “Mordred Pendragon of Orkney. B y my right as the  _ Pater Familias _ , I decree that you are now and hereafter expelled from the family. You forever lose the rights to 'Pendragon', and all that encompasses it. Your children, should you bear them, will have no rights to the name.  _ So mote it be _ .”

Rasalas smirked, seeing the dark thread of magic connecting between son and father. Mordred gave Arthur a cold, furious look.

“May the Saxons take you,” he ground out, as the thread finally dissipated.

“Even with you on their side, don't count on it,” Rasalas muttered. “Dobby, Kreacher.”

Two distinct pops brought the pair of house elves before Rasalas.

“Master Razzy sir.”

“Sir Rasalas and his majesty,” Kreacher greeted.

“We need Mordred's room packed up. He is leaving us within the hour,” said Arthur.

“As you wish, sire,” said Kreacher, bowing low. The pair popped away.

“Have his belongings sent to Orkney,” Rasalas suggested, “I'll put a self-unpacking charm on it—though it's tempting not to.”

That earned another furious look from Mordred.

Arthur again began speaking. “Mordred, former knight, former War-duke. You have one hour in which to leave Camelot. After which, your safety cannot be guaranteed. From this moment forward, you are considered an enemy of the crown in perpetuity. In the war-time climate, no quarter will be given. Are my words understood?”

“Understood.”

Rasalas then felt something shift in his head. “There is one further piece of business, as the Goddess wishes. Mordred No-name. The Goddess commands your magical gifts to be forever bound. You are considered a danger to the safety and stability of Britain even without such skill and ability, this action prevents compounded calamity. Know that had you walked a lighter path, perhaps you could have joined our ranks, been a force for good.

“Instead, you walked a path of darkness, which led you here—”

Rasalas couldn't finish, as Mordred passed out in a dead faint.

“Uh... well...”

“Carry him down to the river and throw him in it,” said Arthur, frostily.

“He may drown,” said Rasalas.

“It'll be a rude awakening, but he won' drown,” Brady said. “Uh... everyone's still frozen.”

“So they are.” Arthur again partially unsheathed Excalibur, and everyone found they could move. Arthur, Rasalas, Brady, Lancelot, Accolon, and Cai climbed up the stairs leading to the castle's entrance. Arthur seemed to think a moment, while the rest of the companions gathered at the foot of the stairs.

“Fellow knights and companions. What my former son has done... has left terrible scars on our order. He has left scars on the kingdom as a whole, and very little time for us to heal.

“But know. The Saxons are coming. Great sacrifice will be required, from all of us. We must present a single, united front.”

Rasalas squeezed Arthur on the shoulder, then spoke, “If any of you here and now cannot or will not put these past weeks, months—years... behind you. If you still believe Mordred's doctrine... please just follow him out of the castle and not come back. This matter is being put behind us here and now.”

“And know that, should you follow Mordred, you will, like he, be considered an enemy of Camelot. There can be no middle ground,” said Accolon.

“You're either for us, or against us, end of story,” Brady summed up.

For several moments, no one moved. Then three knights near the back of the group made to leave.

“Take your leader with 'ya,” said Brady, waspishly.

That spurned two more to join, and between them, they carried Mordred out the large gates of the castle courtyard.

It seemed like a minute passed, before Arthur again briefly unsheathed Excalibur.

“I name Sir Rasalas as my new war-duke, effective henceforth.”

“Sir...”

“I trust you, Rasalas.”

* * *

_May 28_

Rasalas found yet another day of training at Avalon cut short, as he received a missive from Kate, asking him to return to the sanctuary. Knowing she wouldn't send a missive unless it was important, a port key was quickly made.

Kate was waiting in the common room, along with her assistant, and Griphook.

“What happened?” Rasalas questioned.

“You are aware the inventory of your vaults is ongoing, correct?” Griphook questioned in return.

“Yeah, somewhat.”

“Last Wednesday, we uncovered a collection of documents which were incorrectly filed. An examination revealed a further collection of documents which were sealed by the Ministry.”

“Griphook contacted me first thing Thursday, and we were able to force the English Ministry to un-seal the documents first thing this morning,” Kate followed.

“How angry is this gonna make me?” Rasalas wondered.

“A potential family friend and ally, Sir Rasalas,” said Chris, reaching into his portfolio and retrieving a single page of parchment. It was written in loopy handwriting:

  
  


_Dear Lily,_

_I know you do still value your friendship with Severus, however, I must warn you of his dark leanings. Other Order members are concerned he may be attempting to sway you and possibly break your engagement, and this must not be allowed to happen._

_I apologize if this letter causes you grief, but it is for the best, and we must all make sacrifices for the greater good. I only hope you will understand._

_With deepest sympathy,_

_Albus_

  
  


“Meddling goat-fucker,” Rasalas muttered. 

He glanced up at the clock, and then prodded the school's wards. Good. Snape was not teaching a class at the moment, and the meddling headmaster... in his office. He projected two separate requests to the wards.

“Follow me.”

“Rasalas...” Kate cautioned.

“I'm just wantin' some answers, make Dumbledore squirm a little.”

They stepped through the doors which led into the guest suite at Hogwarts. The wards had gone further, the room's furnishings now better suited for the meeting that was about to take place. A table had been provided, with seating for everyone.

“Rasalas,” Kate again cautioned.

“Don't worry. 'I' won't do too much. Though I do think it's gonna be rather entertaining, to see what Professor Snape will have to say about this matter.”

“What's the letter say?” Brady wondered.

“Not so much what it said, but what was not said,” Rasalas answered.

“Compulsion magic,” Accolon guessed, to which Rasalas nodded.

“Who are we expecting?” Arthur asked.

“Besides Professor Snape? The headmaster.”

“I would suggest having at least one other present from the faculty,” said Chris.

Rasalas blew out a breath. Kate's assistant was right. Better to have an outside witness. Where was Professor McGonagall? Crap, teaching fourth year Transfiguration. No matter. They can get along on their own for part of the class. He projected yet another request to the wards.

“I've summoned Professor McGonagall as well, considering she's the deputy headmistress.” He gave a nasty smirk. “I'm sure she'll have loads to say about this as well.”

It was then the doors leading out into the corridor opened, and Snape stepped into the room, a sour look on his face.

“I hope there was good reason for the interruption. I was in the middle of brewing.”

“I know your time is valuable, Professor. Information has come to light which involves you and your relationship with my mother,” Rasalas answered, “We're waiting for two others, and we'll get started.”

He opened his mouth to let loose a frosty barb, but chose against it, seeing present company. Being named a Knight of the Round Table was earned honestly. “Lily would be tremendously proud of her boy,” he thought, as he took an open seat at the table.

“Why is this meeting taking place here?”

“It was hastily arranged by my client, Professor,” Kate answered, “He feels you deserve to know the truth about certain matters.”

“I see.”

It was then the doors opened a second time, and Professor McGonagall entered, also looking rather sour.

“Sir Peverell, what sort of thing is so urgent you had me pulled from teaching a class?”

“A potentially sour meeting, Professor. I'm aware you have fourth year Transfiguration—I figured they're old enough to study on their own for the hopefully brief meeting I've requested.”

“I asked the castle's messenger to keep an eye on them, but this is hardly appropriate. It could have waited until class let out.”

“Apologies, Professor. We're just... ah, the last one summoned to this meeting arrives. Curious, Professor, knowing you are not bound by the anti-apparition wards, you chose to take your time getting here. Care to enlighten us?”

“I only took the time to consider why I was being summoned to a meeting outside of my own office, Lord Peverell,” Dumbledore answered.

“Because I wanted it to be clear that we are the ones asking the questions, rather than it being the other way around. For a brief time, I considered having this meeting conducted at Gringotts, but I did not wish to inconvenience the staff further than necessary. Again, Professor McGonagall, apologies for pulling you away from your class—I'm aware you're preparing for end-of-year exams, so hopefully this will be rather brief.

“Headmaster, please join us.”

Dumbledore took the last vacant seat, still unsure of exactly what Rasalas was up to. Two parchments were set up, dicta-quills poised and ready to record. He mentally groaned. This was clearly a legal proceeding.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, at any time, did you write a letter to my client's mother with regard to Professor Snape—who at that time was a close friend of hers?”

Dumbledore seemed to think on the matter, before closing his eyes, and opening them.

“Perhaps, I did. I cannot recall for certain.”

“I see. Professor Snape, I'll let you have a look at this,” said Kate, as she slid the letter in question across the table.

“It's not been dated, but queries with the Canadian DMLE's Document Analysis Division places the origin to be 1989 or thereabouts,” Chris explained, “The Document Analysis Division is somewhat akin to a police forensics lab in that they can reveal forgeries, date documents, uncover latent spells, and so on.”

Snape finished reading the missive, and when he looked up, his customary mask had fallen, replaced by cold fury. Rasalas knew it wasn't meant for him.

“Tell me, headmaster, when was this sent to Lily?” he questioned, his voice calm, but frosty. He absently passed the letter over to McGonagall.

“A year before Lily became pregnant,” Dumbledore answered, looking defeated.

“Tell us, headmaster. How many compulsion charms was that letter laced with?” this from Chris.

“I do not recall.”

“Try no less than six. Even though the magic has degraded due to the passage of time, it still leaves traces, as I'm sure you are well aware.”

“Attempting to evade the truth only does further damage to your reputation, headmaster,” said Arthur, grimly.

“No matter what, this demonstrates why I continue to have trouble trusting you on matters,” said Rasalas, “You destroyed my mother's relationship with someone she considered a dear friend.

“Professor, you don't have to answer if you don't want to but... if you still had Lily, would you have joined the Dark Lord?”

“...no,” was the simple reply.

Rasalas sucked in a breath and blew it out. “So, headmaster. How many other plots and plans have you hatched over the years... that ended up exactly like this? People don't like being played like chess pieces!”

“I daresay, I have many regrets...”

Brady let out a snort. “Yeah, only regret here is that 'ya got caught.”

“I have to take exception—”

“And we continue to take exception to your meddling, headmaster,” Rasalas snapped. “Unfortunately it's a matter which unfolded in the past, and so I'm not pursuing the matter legally. But purpose in this meeting was to drag yet another ugly dirty secret out into the light, and make sure the victim is aware of your crime.

“I'll make this very clear. Every time I catch onto one of your harebrained schemes, I'm gonna call you on it, make you own up to it. You're not God. Stop acting like it.”

“On the subject of compulsion charms,” said Marcus, at last wading into the conversation, “I have to wonder. How far fetched would it be for Professor Snape to be under the influence of charms or potions?”

“I resent such an accusation, Mr. Flint,” said Dumbledore, coldly.

Snape, meanwhile, leaned back in his seat, mulling it over. Surely, he would have noticed a potion, right? Being a master potioneer and all that rot... but... compulsion charms... a possiblity. And considering he at one point did answer to two masters.

“I do have to wonder, headmaster. The evidence does give Mr. Flint's suggestion credence.”

“Perhaps Mr. Weasley should be summoned,” Marcus suggested.

“It was simply for the best,” said Dumbledore, “Severus, you must understand, we needed someone inside of Voldemort's inner circle.”

“Oh I do understand,” said Snape, frigidly, “Lord Peverell and his party have painted a very clear picture of exactly what sort of value you place on those in your employ. You will have my resignation by sundown.”

“Severus, please...”

“Save your platitudes, Albus.”

“Minerva...”

“Oh don't drag me into this mess, Albus,” McGonagall answered, waspishly, “I do have to wonder if perhaps I might have any charms or other sort. Perhaps we should extend this investigation to the remainder of the staff while we're at it. Ethically improper at best!”

“Fawkes,” Rasalas called. Rather than appearing in his customary flash of golden flames, he fluttered in from the sanctuary common room, to light on the back of Rasalas' chair. Rasalas scribbled out a quick note, rolled it up, and passed it to the bird.

“To Bill Weasley. Urgent.”

The bird lifted off, and vanished in a flash of flames.

“Lord Peverell,” said Dumbledore, “Please do not...”

“Why not?”

“Lie in the bed 'ya made,” said Brady, nastily.

Kate nodded. “It's unfortunate that this matter took place well over a decade into the past, and outside of Canadian jurisdiction. Otherwise, I would be filing documents with the court, and this matter would be handled before a magistrate.

“It does not, however, prevent us from righting a wrong.”

“Rightly said,” said Rasalas, “For the record, I now consider Severus Snape an ally and friend of the Peverell family, and therefore extend any and all protections upon his person hereafter. Any crimes perpetrated against him shall be considered a crime against myself directly, and the guilty shall face consequences befitting the crime.”

“Let it be clear,” Arthur picked up, “Attacking a knight of Our Round Table equates to treason, be it past or present. Consider those consequences, headmaster. As my war-duke, Sir Peverell is empowered to act in my stead.”

“His war-duke? My word,” said McGonagall, impressed.

“My son crossed one line too many, Professor,” said Arthur, “Action was taken that removed him from Camelot, perhaps a little sooner than your history might recall.”

“Your majesty... Sir Peverell... all of you must be very careful,” McGonagall cautioned, “If too many things change, it could be disastrous.”

“As more than a few of Sir Rasalas' friends have been very careful to explain. Yet there comes a time when action is required, for the safety and sanity of all. Mordred nearly instigated war between my knights in the middle of the castle's courtyard only days ago.”

“Oh dear. Such an event... did not occur, according to official history.”

“And so our intervention was contrived, perhaps by the goddess herself,” Rasalas mused, “Ensuring nothing too drastic happens.”

“What would happen if...”

“No one knows for certain, Sir Accolon,” McGonagall answered, “There is a very good reason time-travel is so heavily regulated by the Ministry.”

“I trust the goddess,” said Rasalas, “This event proves with certainly my trust is well placed.”

Further discussion was interrupted, as Bill stepped in from the sanctuary's common room.

“Rasalas. What's going on?” he questioned.

“Professor. Are you willing?”

“Weasley… I wish for you to look for compulsion charms, loyalty charms, or any other sort,” said Snape. “Hoodwinked, should have saw it,” he muttered under his breath.

Dumbledore rose. “Since it is clear you have already placed blame, I have other matters that require my attention.”

“Suit yourself. We'll find you if we have further questions,” said Kate.

Dumbledore left the room, while Bill Drew his wand.

“All right. Hold still, Professor.”

He waved it in a long arc, muttering several spells. A black thread instantly wafted from his left forearm, out the door leading into the castle. A dozen more purple threads came from his chest, also drifting out the door, along with a single crimson red thread. Another blood red thread flew from his chest, to connect with Rasalas.

“What the hell?!” Rasalas exclaimed, about to leap out of his seat.

“I might ask the same thing, Lord Peverell!” Snape growled.

“That... that's not a compulsion charm,” said Bill. “It's... it's a life debt.”

“A life debt? I do not follow,” said Arthur.

“When one wizard or witch saves the life of another, that individual becomes indebted to them,” Kate explained.

“So Rasalas owes me one then,” Brady guessed.

“No. It was repaid,” said Rasalas.

Brady scowled. How very true, he realized. “Guess it explains why we's so close.”

“A relationship forged by adversity. I should think so,” said Kate.

“As to the professor's life-debt, that should have been cleared in my first year... during the Quidditch match, when Quirrel-mort tried to curse my broom.”

“And do remember, it was Miss Granger who then lit my cloak on fire,” said Snape, “My spell casting was interrupted.”

“How about third year, then? When Remus changed during the full moon. You stood between him and us.”

“Only for your foolish godfather to barge onto the scene... could have got himself killed with a stunt like that,” Snape muttered.

Rasalas could only nod. Perhaps foolish, but... neither here nor there.

“I was under the impression you did not remember any of your past,” said McGonagall.

“Pensieve memories, Professor,” Rasalas answered. “Sometimes, the pensieve memory does refresh my own memory of events, but not often. And quite honestly, sometimes the events I do recall, I wish I hadn't. There are times I wonder how I managed to survive four years at Hogwarts—or any of my life with the Dursleys.”

“I believe it amounts to your circle of friends, Sir Peverell,” said Cai, “Those that have been your dear friends longer than you might remember personally. Counter to the life of the Dark Lord you face, you have experienced love and friendship, and perhaps that has made all the difference in the world.”

“Hear hear,” Arthur agreed.

“Getting off track here,” said Rasalas, “I know enough of my past to know that Professor Snape has been somewhat of a reluctant guardian, and I thank him for that. As to the life debt, if I could personally rescind it, I would, knowing his commitment to keeping me safe.”

That earned a curt nod of the head from the soon to be former teacher.

“Right. Onward and upward,” said Bill. “The black thread... that would be the Dark Mark, if I had to guess. We won't tamper with that, even with the Dark Lord currently indisposed. The crimson one... ouch. A hate-compulsion charm. I've seen that cast on animals to guard businesses and the sort, but on a human being? God.”

“With permission, I'll be filing an official complaint with the ICW. Casting that sort of spell on a human being is a criminal offense in many places.”

“Kate... just—”

“I have a legal obligation, Sir Peverell,” said Kate, “We need Auror Jackson to sit in on this meeting from here on out. It's a criminal matter.”

“I'll see to it,” said Marcus, standing.

“Perhaps Auror Jackson should have been present from the beginning,” said Arthur, “If only to... what is the expression, cover all the bases?”

“Yeah, somethin' like that,” Brady agreed, as Marcus disappeared from view.

Rasalas sucked in a breath, and blew it out again. “Thing is, I didn't want this to become a legal matter.”

“Rasalas, you had to know, it would eventually come to this,” said Kate, “As important a symbol the headmaster is, he has too many dark secrets. Many of them to do with you, yes, but many others. Plots and plans, all of which in are in motion to keep his power base intact.”

Rasalas huffed, feeling his control of the matter slipping away. Dumbledore was a partial adversary as it was... to be truly at odds with him... it could make things difficult to say the least.

“Likewise, the school's board of governors also must be informed,” said McGonagall, “Seeing this with my own eyes makes me very concerned about Albus' intentions and motives.”

“Perhaps we should also check you over for similar charms and spells, Professor,” Bill suggested. “In the meantime, if you will permit, Professor Snape, I will remove the unwanted spells.”

“We wait for the Aurors to be present first,” said Snape, “Law enforcement should bear witness to the spells and charms being present.”

“Very good point. And likewise, we should also hold off conducting the detection charms on Professor McGonagall, so it's also into official record,” said Chris.

“Let's take a five-minute break then.”

“Make it ten,” said McGonagall, “I would like to look in on the class I'm supposed to be teaching.”

“Should have sent the headmaster to look after your class,” said Chris, “It is one of the expectations, correct?”

“There are a number of things the headmaster does not do,” said Snape, “He sees actual teaching of a class beneath him.”

“Severus...”

“Admit it, Minerva,” said Snape, waspishly, “When was the last time he looked in on a class, let alone teach it?”

“The headmistress at Upper Canada Academy regularly sits in on classes, and sometimes fills in. It's an expectation,” said Chris.

“As it is also an expectation here,” said McGonagall. “Now I shall return in a few minutes.”

The break lasted just under fifteen minutes, before everyone was re-seated. Now, an additional set of dicta-quills were set up, these for DMLE use. With this going on official record, Arthur and his knights excused themselves back to sanctuary's common room, since their presence could cause complications.

Then, with the Aurors present, and asking questions, Bill removed the spells and charms from Snape. He then moved on to casting similar detection spells on McGonagall, with a similar batch of compulsion charms being found.

“I do voice objection to any charges being filed, as the situation around Voldemort still hasn't been resolved,” said Rasalas.

“We can hold off filing an indictment until the matter is resolved,” said Auror Jackson, “But know that this is a criminal matter.”

“As Kate has already explained,” said Rasalas.

“The school's board of directors must be informed regardless,” said McGonagall, “This sort of behaviour is most unsettling... and quite honestly, I have to wonder if he's used this sort of thing on the studeents.”

Rasalas frowned. “Y'know... that wouldn't surprise me.”

“Perhaps the entire faculty should be scanned,” said Bill.

“If you're willing to do it.”

“Professor, I would be happy to. I want Hogwarts to be the best it can be... and it can't do will with this sort of subterfuge afoot.”

“And I'll cover the expense for your time,” Rasalas offered. “I think this thing's taken on a mind of its own.”

“I said it earlier, I'll say it again,” said Kate. “You had to know, us digging into the headmaster's affairs would eventually result in some sort of criminal proceeding.”

“I... I guess, some part of me knew. Just... didn't want it to come out so soon. I guess part of me still respects the man... sees him as a grandfather wanting what's best for everyone. But... this... all this rubbish...”

Rasalas let out a sigh. “The man drives me nuts with his schemes, his plans.”

“You don't hate him, even after all this?” Kate wanted to know.

“No. Disappointed. Disappointed in the man I'm finding behind the facade. Does... does that make sense?”

Kate gave a nod. “Perfectly.”

“So what happens now?” Brady wondered.

“An official case file will be opened,” said Auror Jackson, “All of you should know, you are now considered witnesses. I'll hold off contacting the crown attorney's office until a certain issue is dealt with, but after... there will be criminal proceedings.”

“We'll need to be present if and when other professors are checked for spells,” said Auror Jackson, “Just so the record it thorough.”

“I'll speak with my colleagues,” said McGonagall. “I take it then, that this meeting is over with?”

“We are off the record,” said Auror Jackson. The dicta-quills all stopped writing.

“If you'll excuse me, I have a letter to compose,” said Snape, rising.

“As do I have a class to return to, if only brief.”

“Apologies for taking up so much of your time, Professor,” Rasalas again apologized.

“It's not your fault,” said McGonagall. “If anything, you are only acting in the best interest of everyone... something Albus has forgotten somewhere along the line.”

Rasalas huffed. “So true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: “It All Comes Home To Roost”-- Arthur at last get scanned for unwanted spells thanks to Bill; a day of reckoning comes for Dumbledore, the English Wizengamot, and Minister Fudge; and a back yard party at Rasalas' place is interrupted by disturbing news from Camelot..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: And so the curse on the Dark Arts Defence position remains intact—though in this instance, the teacher doesn't end up dead, absent their memories, or emotionally scarred. Or well, maybe less-so in the last instance._
> 
> _As for Snape, don't worry, he's not going too far. I have plans for him that will keep him at Hogwarts. Of course, if you know your HP canon, you know where I'm going, right?_
> 
> _Good grief, this chapter took on a mind of its own with the last scene. I'd intended for that to run a page or so. Instead, it took up half the chapter. Though it was awesome, as the scene took shape. Now of course, what I'd planned out in the outline went out the window, or this chapter would end up being a third longer. I think writing 10-12 thousand words or more for a chapter is just a little too long, this one clocks in about 8700, give or take._
> 
> _Now, I should also mention, this story is nearing its end, as the inevitable battle between Arthur and the Saxon horde is rapidly approaching. There's still a bit of the story left to tell after, but, I see likely 3 or 4 chapters after._


	53. It All Comes Home to Roost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Arthur at last gets scanned for unwanted spells thanks to Bill; a day of reckoning comes for Dumbledore, the English Wizengamot, and Minister Fudge; and a back yard party at Rasalas' place is interrupted by disturbing news from Camelot..._

**314\. IT ALL COMES HOME TO ROOST  
May/June, 2007**  


“ _Curses are like young chicken: they always come home to roost.”_  
_\- Robert Southey, The Curse of Kehama_  


* * *

_Same Day_

“Some part of me is saying 'to hell with it, let's nail him to the wall',” Rasalas muttered, as the smaller group retreated back into the sanctuary's common room. “He demonstrates over and over again that he can't be trusted, withholds vital information, talks out of both sides of his mouth, ad nausea.”

“And you know that, if you wish to do so, all you need to do is ask,” said Kate, “We have evidence that would easily bury him.”

“His removal from Hogwarts will be a terrible strike against him,” said Arthur, “Damaging to his credibility, and it will cause those who follow him to question his reputation.”

“Which is why I'm not pushing for a full investigation just yet,” said Rasalas.

“What's the evidence?” Brady wondered.

“The most damning? We were able to speak with Gellert Grindelwald, the dark wizard Dumbledore defeated in 1945,” said Chris.

“If he was defeated, why does he remain alive?” Accolon questioned.

Rasalas let out a snort. “Come on. It's Dumbledore we're talking about. He'd probably coo and coddle Voldemort if he could.”

That earned a vicious smirk from Marcus. “Yet another reason there are many with little faith in the man. Not all can be saved. Couple that with the contempt shown Slytherin...”

“Ron showed me a pensieve memory of the end-of-year feast from my first year,” said Rasalas. “That was just plain mean, what he did.”

“What happened?” Brady wanted to know.

“You know of the house point system?” At Brady's nod, Rasalas continued, “Due to a few mishaps, all of them on my account, and that of my friends, Slytherin held the most points at the end of the school year. Now, the house with the most points wins the House Cup. It's a trophy, and of course it comes with lots of prestige.”

“And braggin' rights.”

“Exactly. So anyway. Slytherin had the most points at the start of the feast.”

“Cue our meddling headmaster,” Marcus sneered, “Awards a boat load of points to Gryffindor, including for I quote, 'Pure nerve and outstanding courage'.”

“Yeah, those were for me. I was only eleven at the time, and it felt good to see Malfoy wither just a little bit... but really, in the grand scheme of things, it was a terrible thing to do. The entire house was practically shamed and humiliated in front of the school body. I'm truly sorry that happened, and it's no wonder Slytherins have so much animosity for the rest of the school.”

“A terrible example for young, impressionable minds,” said Arthur, “Has the board of governors ever took him to task over such behaviour?”

“At this point, I'm not sure,” Rasalas admitted. “Though I suspect that's gonna change.”

“Even without the criminal investigation, it's likely the board will do a quiet investigation of their own. According to my records, both Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom are members,” said Kate. “Putting charms and spells on teachers without their knowledge... I think that revelation alone will be above and beyond disturbing.

“At any rate... back to Grindelwald. All of you are aware, Dumbledore is one of three siblings—”

Rasalas was surprised. “Really?”

“Oh. I stand corrected then. Albus is the oldest of three siblings. Aberforth, the middle child, owns a small pub in Hogsmeade. Ariana, the youngest, meanwhile, died when she was fourteen. I won't get into the wheres or the whys, but her magic was uncontrollable, and during a duel involving Aberforth, Albus, and Grindelwald, she was hit by a stray spell and killed instantly.”

“But your meeting with Grindelwald...” Arthur began.

“Yes, exactly. Chris and I travelled to Nurmengard, a wizarding prison located in eastern Germany, and interviewed the former dark wizard. Our questions focused on his relationship with Dumbledore, with the intent of discovering inconsistencies with his views on matters.

“It led us to information about the incident in which Ariana was killed. He produced a memory which we viewed in a pensieve—odd that such measure was not taken at the time.”

“Perhaps Dumbledore was afraid to learn the truth,” said Cai. “To kill your own kin, no matter the circumstance, it would weigh heavily on the heart.”

“So Dumbledore did it,” said Rasalas.

“Thing is, there's more to it,” said Chris. “You're aware that memories can be tampered with and so on?”

“As was the case with Professor Slughorn earlier this year, yes,” Rasalas remembered.

“This isn't about the owner of the memory masking it,” said Kate.

“Obliviation,” said Rasalas. “So Dumbledore Obliviated Grindelwald.”

“Very good.”

“'cause Dumbledore really knows what happened,” Brady guessed.

“The DMLE's crime lab and the Department of Mysteries was very helpful in uncovering the unaltered memories,” said Chris.

“One might consider that rather subjective,” said Accolon, “In your court, the validity might be called into question.”

“If the crown solicitor has their wits about them, they will have plenty of expert evidence as support,” said Kate.

“What sort of spell did Dumbledore use—”

Rasalas let out a snort. “Three guesses, the first two don't count.”

“No. It wasn't the killing curse,” said Kate. “Quite honestly, I don't think Dumbledore would be able to cast it. The man has very little in terms of true hate for someone. And all of you know, one must have a well of hate to draw on to make that spell work.”

“This is true,” Rasalas admitted.

“Could you?” Accolon wondered.

“Cast the killing curse? I... no. No I couldn't. Beside the point, I wouldn't, even if I could. The killing curse is terrible magic. It strikes against everything the goddess stands for.”

“And we're getting off track again. Thing being, Dumbledore did most definitely kill his sister, quite intentionally. What reason, it's not for certain.”

“If he was carin' for her... maybe he resented it,” Brady guessed, “Seen that happen before.”

“It's a likely explanation,” Kate agreed.

“And it would be most damaging to the image he's made of himself. This piece of evidence would see his reputation utterly destroyed, and whatever schemes and plans he's got afoot would come crashing down around his ears,” said Chris.

“We sit on it for now. Once this—” Rasalas gestured to his scar, “—is gone, then we can deal with Dumbledore for good. Even if it's just a meeting to set the record straight, if you get my point. I imagine there's evidence of other things he's done that would be damaging.”

“There is. But this is your show, Rasalas. We just wait on your word,” said Kate.

Rasalas leaned back on the couch, and blew out a breath. “Still can't believe he put a hate-compulsion charm on Snape, though. Explains so much.”

“Or that he put charms on the teachers without their knowledge,” said Bill, at last joining the conversation. He'd been on a fire-call with someone.

“Speaking of which,” said Arthur, “There have been many occasions when I have questioned if perhaps I might be under the influence of spells. Know that there are many who would wish me harm, just as there were those who acted against my father.”

“Bloody hell... should have been done a long time ago,” said Rasalas, “I've kept meaning to get Bill's opinion on exactly that.”

“It's not a far-fetched scenario,” Bill agreed, “If you're willing, sir.”

“Bill, it's Arthur. No need for formality in the company of friends. And yes, I'm willing.”

“Oh. Err... quite right. Then hold still. Uh... Rasalas, if you could sit apart, so as not to confuse the result.”

“Right.”

Rasalas shifted over so there was ample space, and Bill produced his wand. Such as he'd done with Snape and McGonagall, he waved it in a wide arc, muttering a series of spells.

This time, only a few threads wafted from the King's chest, one to link with the sword at his hip, one seeming to fizzle out a short distance into the air, while the rest streamed through the door back to Camelot.

“The fizzling thread... family,” Arthur guessed, “My banished son.”

“Right. That one...” Bill pointed to another blue thread, “Links likely to your sister. You share a magical bond with her.”

“Naturally.”

“Those, however... someone has indeed placed magic-blocking charms on you.”

“My mother, perhaps?”

“No. It would have broken when you reached maturity,” said Rasalas, “And considering your mum was—I mean, is—a witch of the old magic... that wouldn't be done.”

Bill shook his head. “No, this was with malice. This kind of magic... these are curses. Not performed with a wand, but rather through ritual.”

“Neither my mother or Aunt Viviane would do such a thing.”

“Perhaps your aunt Morgause, sire,” Cai suggested, “It is known she lusts for power and prestige.”

Rasalas remained quiet. Though nothing was said in the legend, it was a very likely possibility, considering the curses she'd placed on Gwenhwyfar.

“The better question... are you able to remove those curses?” Arthur questioned.

“I'll need you to remain very still. I have dealt with such magic, and getting it wrong... could have severe consequences.”

“Perhaps, if we were to take this back to Avalon. A positive boost in ambient magic might make the task less taxing,” Accolon suggested.

Bill gave a nod, and stowed his wand. “And if I'm unsuccessful, Viviane and Morgaine might know other ways to solve our problem.”

“In that case. We will be returning to the office,” said Kate, “There's a lot of material to go over with what we've discovered here.”

“Of course.”

A few minutes later, the group had returned to Avalon's stone circle. Both Viviane and Morgaine also attended, but it was still Bill's show, as he again produced his wand. As he worked, the discussion continued.

“It does not surprise me that my sister would do this sort of thing,” Viviane commented.

“Just as she likely poisoned Mordred with her words,” said Morgaine, “I did have a few reservations leaving him with her. Now my fears have come to pass.”

“There's no way you could have known,” said Rasalas, “And though we knew, we couldn't tell you.”

“I know, Rasalas. Do not blame yourself, your reasons are most certainly valid. Even if you had to witness the event unfold.”

“Doesn't mean I have to like it.”

“And there... that's one,” said Bill, as a dark thread snapped and withered away. Two others still remained, wafting off to the northeast.

“Still can't believe she conducted not one but three different rituals. This... this is a crime, really,” said Rasalas.

“And chasin' after her ain' gon' fix it,” said Brady, “'an worse, what's stoppin' her from doin' it again?”

“I'll put a few safeguards in place so it can't be repeated,” said Bill. “And if we leave her be, she won't be any wiser.”

“Aunt Morgause and her plots... I have to wonder if she may have had something to do with Gwenhwyfar being unable to conceive.”

Viviane frowned but gave a nod. “It's a likely possibility, Morgaine.”

“My largest wish, is that I had met you much sooner, Rasalas,” said Arthur, “Perhaps, then, Gwen would have been able to produce an heir. Our love aside, the kingdom needs an heir.”

“And hindsight is twenty-twenty, sir,” said Bill. It was then another thread snapped and withered. “One more to go.”

“With luck, sire, you should be able to catch up with us, with your abilities uncapped,” said Accolon.

“It is the hope,” Arthur agreed.

Now, the final thread snapped and withered. Arthur felt a shudder, as if something within him had been freed of its bounds.

“Goddess...” he whispered.

“How do you feel?” Bill questioned.

Arthur smiled. “As though something within has been unleashed from captivity.”

“I know it's likely you're going to want to try things out, I would suggest waiting until tomorrow at least. Let your body and your subconscious mind adjust to the change that's just taken place. Perhaps we might even fire-call Healer Theresa, just to make sure there are no lingering effects,” said Bill.

Arthur seemed to think a moment. “As this is your area of expertise, I think it's best to follow your advice. Your assistance today is greatly appreciated.”

“In your service, your majesty,” said Bill, with a brief bow of the head.

* * *

_SNAPE RESIGNS FROM HOGWARTS_

_Well-known potions master, and long-time Hogwarts professor Severus Snape officially resigned from the school's faculty yesterday, citing personal differences with the headmaster._

_His tenure as Potions Professor, and Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor this year have been categorized as turbulent at best, and according to some, outright volatile. Make no mistake, however, the man has left his mark on more than a few generations of Hogwarts alumni._

_For the remainder of the term, the rest of the teaching staff will take turns looking after the class, and headmaster Dumbledore has already commenced a search for a replacement for September, something that has been routine since the fifties, as no Dark Arts Defence professor has lasted beyond a single school year in the position._

* * *

For the next few days, Arthur found magical training to be a much more engaging—and much more productive experience. He was still very far behind the others, but there was progress. Far more progress than only days before. By end of training Thursday, he was able to sense the magical energy around him, a key to tapping into it.

Returning to the sanctuary for the night, they found Kate waiting, along with Amelia Bones.

“Madam Bones,” Rasalas greeted.

“Sir Rasalas, your majesty, we can wait no longer,” said the former head of England's DMLE. “The Wizengamot must be forcibly convened.”

“How quickly?”

“For tomorrow morning.”

“Is that possible?” Arthur questioned.

“It's one of the Peverells' powers within the Wizengamot.”

“Perhaps we should have been summoned sooner,” said Arthur.

“And I suggested this could wait until you all returned, given members of the Wizengamot only need a few hours' notice.”

“What kind of notice will they receive?”

“The time of the sitting, and its purpose,” answered Bones. “And the purpose, is the vote of non-confidence.”

“Except that, it needs to go above that,” said Rasalas, “In our last meeting, we all agreed that it's not just Fudge who's guilty of abusing his powers... it roots back to the Wizengamot members themselves.”

“And it's within your power to act. Elections have traditionally taken place on a Monday, so you have the choice of the 9th, 16th, or 23rd of July.”

“What will happen to the Wizengamot members?”

“Some of the seats are hereditary, and those members will return with the new sitting—though there is an exception which I'll go over with you in the weeks ahead. The rest go up for election, just as the minister's position.

“Like the Muggle government, any committees, panels, and pending legislation will also be squashed when the Wizengamot is dissolved, though the body will have the right to revisit those items when it reconvenes.

“And your majesty... though I'm sure you and your knights would like to be there, it's likely—”

“An unwise action,” Arthur finished. “I trust Sir Peverell to act with the best interests of Briton in mind. Do know, he has replaced Mordred as my war-duke.”

“Indeed?” Madam Bones looked impressed. “That certainly elevates status. Sir Peverell is then acting in your stead, with your sanction... is that safe to say?”

“It is.”

Rasalas smirked. “Poor Fudge. Has no clue what he's in for.”

* * *

_June 1, 2007_  
Ministry of Magic, London, U.K.  
8:58a

Minister Fudge tromped down the stairs from level nine to level ten, and the courts. “Blasted boy and his proclamations! Titles be damned,” he thundered in his head. Clenched in his right fist was the summons, delivered only ten minutes prior, by a white snowy owl. Didn't that bird belong to P-peverell?

No matter. Fudge would shower platitudes on the boy, before finally putting the muckraker in his place, heritage be damned! The nerve, usurping the minister's authority... disrupting schedules and the like... see how he likes it, chained to a wall in ministry holding...

He stepped through the doors to court room ten, and stopped... realizing the room was crammed with people. Not just the members of the Wizengamot, but... members of the public as well. The galleries were packed. What in the world?

“You're late,” came Rasalas' voice.

A stone dropped into the pit of Fudge's stomach. Nearly two years ago, the roles had been reversed. Now, the boy—or man, stood below the raised seat where Fudge normally sat, along with a few others... that American wizard—Muggle... Fudge was unsure how to describe him... and how was that even possible?!

“Come on Fudge, take your seat so we can get on with this,” said Bones, from her seat.

Fudge hurried around, and up the stairway at one end of the raised seating, then shuffled his way along to his seat.

“Now that we are all here,” said Dumbledore(1), “Proceeding this first day of June, a motion brought forward by Sir Rasalas Peverell nee Harry James Potter, a motion of non-confidence to be weighed against Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister For Magic.

“Sir Peverell, you may present your evidence.”

“Thank you, chief warlock,” said Rasalas. “My life has been no picnic. In fact, there are many facets of my life I would not foist on my worst enemy. Some incidents have been my fault, and I do accept blame in those cases.

“However, many incidents have been exacerbated by outside interference. Many of those responsible for such outside interference have faced justice recently, and more will face justice in the near future.

“All of you take note of the number of empty seats in your membership. All of them aligned themselves with Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort...”

He waited for nearly a minute for the expected response to die down. In the end, Dumbledore flicked his wand at the ceiling, causing a firework to go off overhead, bringing silence back to the room.

“If you cannot restrain yourselves, you will be asked to leave,” said Dumbledore, “Sir Rasalas, please continue.”

“Thank you, chief warlock. Now. This meeting isn't specifically about me and my personal difficulties, though they may be somewhat related. This meeting has been called so I can bring about a resolution to a larger issue.”

“And what might that be?” Fudge sneered.

“In the time you have held office, you have put your own interests above that of magical England. By your inaction, you have allowed Tom Riddle and his followers to run unchecked, and threaten not only magical England, but the entire world.

“Your inaction has put the Statute of Secrecy at risk, and doing so puts the entire magical community at risk. It's no wonder England was nearly given Rogue Nation status by the I.C.W.”

That created yet another uproar in both the membership, and the galleries. This was not public knowledge!

“Yes, I'm just as furious as you are,” said Rasalas, turning to face the galleries, “Your minister here, meanwhile, continued to accept bribes from his Death Eater friends, hire Death Eaters to work here at the ministry, stymie and curtail efforts to bolster and expand the Auror office... I have an extensive list of such incidents, collected by my solicitor. All of it will be published through most media outlets in the next couple of days.

“A month ago, when confronted with evidence of his wrongdoing, Fudge then fired Amelia Bones, then head of the DMLE, and attempted to have dozens of Death Eaters released from ministry custody.

“This is not the kind of behavior we either expect or want from our leaders. The minister for magic must be an example of integrity, and demonstrate strong morals, convictions, and leadership. Fudge has done none of these things.”

Rasalas turned back to the Wizengamot membership.

“Most of you, meanwhile, have done very little to counter the minister's behaviour. Where were you two years ago, when the minister was running his smear campaign against both Dumbledore and I? This membership has an obligation to keep the minister in check when he goes off the rails... yet you have done nothing.

“You allowed Fudge to meddle at Hogwarts, allowed hundreds of minor children—our very FUTURE... to be subjected to torture. I have a number of friends who are appalled that this was allowed to happen.

“As I compiled the evidence last night, I realized that a motion of non-confidence is insufficient under the circumstance. Consulting with my solicitor and other trusted sources, I have arrived at a decision that will better serve Britain's magical community in the long run.

“Whereas, this body has failed to act in the best interests of magical Britain; and whereas, this body has worked contrary to conventions and articles contained in the international statute of wizarding secrecy;

“We, by rights granted by blood and ancestor, hereby decree that this body of the Wizengamot is henceforth dissolved—”

Pandemonium reigned as the room exploded into angry voices. Rasalas simply stood quietly with his friends, and waited. Might as well let them get it all out of their systems, rather than trying to quell multiple interruptions.

Dumbledore at last had enough, and what sounded like a cannon blast once again restored decorum.

“Sir Peverell, please continue.”

“Thank you. Though I only have a few more words to say. An election is to be held on July sixteenth, forty-five days from today. I'm also taking the unprecedented action of recalling each and every seat in this body—”

The room again burst into angry voices.

_BANG_ . The explosion overhead had everyone covering their ears.

“If you wish to preserve your delicate eardrums, you'll reserve further outbursts for when I am finished,” said Rasalas, harshly, “This body has abused its power, and has thus far not been made to answer for it. Those of you with up to now hereditary seats have been the biggest culprits, not being forced to answer for your actions and your choices in this chamber.

“Today, that ends with my proclamation, backed by blood and ancestry. This, I do to ensure true fairness in this chamber... that the body who next sits in this chamber truly works for the good of the people of magical England, rather than serve their own selfish drive for power and glory.

“This proclamation shall bear lawful effect by the blood of Peverell, and by order of his majesty King Arthur, High King of magical Britain. Goddess preserve his reign.”

Rasalas and his friends then walked out of the chamber, to yet another explosion of outraged voices.

Fudge, meanwhile, sagged in his seat. He'd felt some of the magical tethers which connected him to the ministry snap and shrivel away, so there was no question as to the validity of the brat's orders. There was no question he was of Peverell blood, and what had just taken place, all but proved it.

He remained there for some time, as the room continued to empty. Then—

“Uh, excuse me, but, you need to come with us.”

Fudge looked up to see a pair of Aurors had approached.

“What for?”

“You are being placed under arrest. Please surrender your wand,” said the second.

“But...”

“Accepting bribes, violations of several international statutes, endangering the Muggle world for starters. Please stand and surrender your wand.”

Fudge huffed, but did as asked.

“But... I only did—”

“I must remind you that anything you might say can be used against you.”

Fudge mumbled something incoherent, as he was led out of the chamber. Outside of it, no surprise, he found Rasalas and his friends, surrounded by a crowd of reporters, including that vile Skeeter woman—her outlandish outfits could be spotted a mile away.

On sight of the minister, the media circus swiftly surrounded them.

“Minister Fudge! A statement!”

“Anything to say?”

“How do you feel about—”

“Cornelius Oswald Fudge,” said Rasalas, just loud enough that the reporters all fell silent.

“Haven't you done enough damage?” Fudge muttered.

“Oh, I think I have just one more thing to do as far as you're concerned, former minister. By your negligence and your acts, you have put not only Britain's magical community at risk, but also the magical world as a whole.

“Thanks to some diligent research on the part of my friends and allies, I have learned that Peverell blood flows through your body. Rather weak given the degrees of separation, but more than enough that I am able to do the following.

“Given your actions, you demonstrate little respect or regard for the magical gifts you have been born with. Therefore, as the Peverell _Pater Familias_ , I do declare that your magical gifts be bound from this point on, for as long as you may live. Find yourself with the abilities less than a squib, and be thankful I take nothing further. Doing so would be depriving England's magical people from seeing you face proper justice for your deeds.”

* * *

_PEVERELL DISSOLVES WIZENGAMOT!_  
FUDGE HAS MAGIC BOUND, ARRESTED!  
ELECTION CALLED FOR JULY 16, ALL SEATS IN PLAY!

_In a stunning turn of events yesterday morning, Lord Peverell, the former Harry James Potter, dissolved the Wizengamot and forced an election of all its members, including those holding hereditary seats._

_Peverell cited numerous violations committed by the governing body, including negligence concerning the actions of Cornelius Fudge. “_ By your inaction, you have allowed Tom Riddle and his followers to run unchecked, and threaten not only magical England, but the entire world. _” These are grave accusations, but evidence received by the Daily Prophet early yesterday afternoon all but verify Lord Peverell's accusations, and only lend credibility to his actions._

_Immediately following the Wizengamot session, the now former minister for magic was taken into ministry custody, facing a number of charges stemming from Peverell's evidence. And, as Fudge was led from the chamber, Lord Peverell bound his magic, citing his lack of respect for the magical gifts he was born with._

_The former minister's arrest was notable, however, the larger story still remains the questionable act in rescinding hereditary status on all Wizengamot seats, something many long-time members are taking grave offense to._

“ _It is a direct, violent assault against long-standing traditions and practice,” spoke one ousted Wizengamot member, who wishes to remain anonymous. “Hereditary seats in our governing body are not up for debate, this has been part of our forum dating back to the Wizengamot's inception. They were put in place for a reason. I will be seeking the advice of a law-wizard on the matter, and I urge other members to do the same.”_

_Former chief warlock Albus Dumbledore, meanwhile, went on record saying, “Perhaps it may have been a rather strong-arm course of action, but in retrospect, this sort of thing has been a long time coming. Those sitting in the seat of power must treat it with the grave respect it deserves, or find themselves answering to someone, eventually. I also say this to young Sir Peverell directly, that he must be careful, the political arena is no place for amateur mistakes.”_

_Asked as to who is in charge of the ministry at this point, Dumbledore answered, “Ministry departments will function as they always have, and department heads will keep everything in line, and the day-to-day business of running magical Britain will continue... it is business as usual._

“ _For the next forty-five days, we as a magical population have a chance to decide who will speak for us, and I urge each and every person out there to take up that chance.”_

_As to Lord Peverell himself, when questioned as to the timing of this action, he simply said, “Cornelius Fudge refused to answer to the people. The Wizengamot has been in recess for over a month, violating one of the primary tenets of the body. I was asked to take action, and ensure the will of the people is heard, resulting in this morning's rather brief session._

“ _It's likely a number of people may resent what I have done, but know that I have taken action because it was required, and those who know me, know I will not back away from a fight for what is right and what is just. What Fudge was doing, was neither. Rather, his actions were selfish and cowardly.”_

_As it now stands, we have now law-making body, meaning that (see THE, page 4)_

_Peverell's ban from entering England unenforceable (Page 8)_

_Election Protocol (Page 3)_

_Wizengamot Members May Challenge Loss of Seats (Page 7)_

_Peverell Lineage, Where Does His Authority Come From? (Page 8)_

_Editorial: It All Comes Home To Roost (Page 13)_

  
  


“How could they... challenge the act?” Accolon wondered, as Rasalas finished reading. It was late that evening, but Hermione had sent up a copy of the Daily Prophet, as they'd printed an evening special.

“It would be heard by the international court instead,” said Bill, “The thing being, the Peverells were one of the founders of the modern ministry. They were one of a few families with the powers Rasalas now has.”

“Do any other families have similar powers?”

“No,” Bill answered, “Thanks to you and Voldemort, they're gone. I think the Prewett line may have, but... no direct line of descent. And no Prewett descendant of any line of descent has held a Wizengamot seat in a long time.”

“So your dad, in theory, might have had,” said Rasalas.

“Yeah, possibly.”

“Sorry.”

“We've been over this, Har—Rasalas,” said Bill, “It's not your fault.”

“The more important question... will he need to do anything, if matters are pressed?” Arthur questioned.

“No. Given it's an internal matter below I.C.W. Jurisdiction, any sort of request will be flat-out denied.”

“So is' a catch-twenty-two,” said Brady. “Can't stop 'im from doin' it without bein' in session... but the can't call a new session 'till after the election.”

“That about sums it up, yeah,” Bill agreed.

Rasalas smirked. “Good luck passing any sort of limit legislation. Amelia will just veto it.”

“Doubly so, if she becomes minister. Speaking of, you need to set up a time to announce her intention to run. You have any thoughts on where you'll do it?”

“In front of the front doors at Hogwarts. This is about our future as a community. About ensuring my generation's children have a happy, safe world to grow up in.”

“And the press will eat it up,” said Bill, “Painting that sort of picture is more than likely to win her the election.”

“What I'm counting on.”

* * *

_June 4_

McGonagall had contacted the school's board of governors as soon as she was able to, following the ill-fated meeting a week prior. With pensieve evidence collected from the deputy headmistress, the board then began conducting a quick investigation of their own.

All of the school's teaching staff, the librarian, the head healer, and the caretaker were interviewed, with more evidence painting a rather startling picture of what was going on in the school. Students were also summoned from all years, as were most of Rasalas' former classmates. It resulted in hours and hours of pensieve memories.

Finally, mid-afternoon that Friday, the board had formed an opinion on the situation at hand, and summoned the headmaster to their chamber.

“Albus, do come have a seat,” said Madam Longbottom, “This will be rather brief.”

Dumbledore claimed a seat at the table. He was aware of the board's investigation. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been grilled by the board of governors about something.

“A week ago, we were contacted by your deputy concerning a number of disturbing practices which have been ongoing here at Hogwarts—”

“I assure you—”

“Save it, Albus,” Madam Bones snapped, “We've heard your platitudes.”

“Where was I? Yes, an investigation, which we've been conducting over the past week,” Longbottom continued, “Considering my grandson has been involved in some of the incidents in question, I'm appalled. A Basilisk, Albus! And you neglected to warn any of us! Not one, but count at least THREE occasions in which Voldemort was INSIDE the school!”

“We have your healer withholding evidence of abuse and not notifying authorities at the ministry, a caretaker who views the students here with nothing short of malice and contempt,” said another board member, “A Death Eater disguised as a close friend...”

“Tell me, Albus, how is it that you DID NOT notice one of your closest friends had been replaced by an impostor?” another questioned.

“You are of course referring to the Triwizard Tournament,” said Dumbledore. “Nearing the end of the year, I did begin to have suspicion, and yet I had little proof.”

“Other than the fact the man was drinking from a hip flask every hour like clock work,” said yet another member, “A number of students we have interviewed all confirm it.”

“How is it the man was able to get into the school in the first place? Wards are supposed to be keeping Voldemort's supporters out.”

“Unless, you have disabled that ward.”

“I needed Severus,” Dumbledore answered.

“Ah, the second Death Eater you allowed into the school—”

“Three, actually, Madam Longbottom. This according to testimony from Lord Peverell's closest friends. Peter Pettigrew was in the school the year before the Triwizard Tournament.”

“And we arrive at Professor Snape. We've reviewed the house point records for the past decade, that alone painting a vivid picture of his attitude toward the school outside of Slytherin house. You have the same information as we do, Albus, so the question is, why was this not corrected sooner?”

“There were... and still are reasons he was given latitude,” Dumbledore responded, “And so I cannot give you an answer on the public record. It must be understood, many sacrifices have been needed. Yes, perhaps Severus was rather unpleasant, at times antagonistic, but his presence was necessary.”

Madam Bones was unimpressed with the answer. “Perhaps that might fly with you, but this is our children you are talking about, Albus! His behaviour in the classroom is nothing less than an abomination, a crime! It's no wonder we're seeing fewer and fewer healers and Aurors. Thank everything holy he's tendered his resignation, because quite honestly, I would be demanding it after the evidence we've collected.

“As it stands, the DMLE will be having a very close look at Snape's record, and don't give me the 'greater good' line. You know what he was doing was wrong no matter what angle you take!”

“Far worse, and perhaps the most damning, is the fact you've been using memory charms and compulsion charms on both your teachers and sometimes the students,” said Longbottom, “I'm horrified by this information! Tampering with someone's free will, snatching away someone's memories, adjusting them to suit your own ends, and it's been going on for years.

“Quite honestly, perhaps we have dropped the ball in not conducting this sort of audit years ago. Just maybe we would have uncovered these unethical and downright criminal practices you seem to carry out on a regular basis.

“Considering the evidence in front of us, we've come to a decision. You will resign as headmaster of Hogwarts. This will allow you to withdraw with some grace, and retain perhaps some of your dignity intact—though there are some of us who feel you don't deserve the courtesy, once again all considering the evidence in front of us.”

“Or,” Madam Bones picked up, “You can refuse. Do so, and we will have no choice, but to issue formal notification and relieve you. It will be done very publicly, and you will lose all dignity remaining. Further, I will ensure the DMLE has ALL the evidence and documentation we have collected, and you can be sure a criminal investigation will be opened into your conduct as headmaster.”

“You will not appoint a successor—that will fall to us, and we'll make a decision sometime in the next few weeks,” spoke another, “Our choice will preferably have no connection with you, and so that will exclude your present staff. Professor McGonagall will retain her position as deputy headmistress, and will temporarily assume your duties until your successor is named.”

“So, Albus, we need your decision,” said Madam Bones.

Dumbledore removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on, and for the first time in some time, felt every bit of his one-hundred-and-fifty-plus years weighing on him.

“If it is the decision of this board that I am unfit to govern the school, then so be it. You will have my resignation by tomorrow morning.”

* * *

_DUMBLEDORE RETIRES_

_**Hogsmeade (AWP)** : In a surprise move late yesterday, Albus Dumbledore announced he is retiring as Headmaster come the end of the current school year, citing the need for a fresh face at the historic magical school. He made the announcement yesterday during the evening meal in the school's Great Hall. “After much reflection, I have decided it is time to step aside, and cede the position to a fresh voice, as we enter a new era,” said Dumbledore, “It has been a pleasure and a privilege to stand here year after year, and know all of you will be missed as I leave the school for the last time when the term ends later this month.”_

_Requests for a statement from the school's board of governors have all been declined, suggesting that perhaps, his resignation was by no means voluntary. The outgoing headmaster also declined requests for an interview before we went to print..._

  
  


Rasalas sighed, as he put the paper down. Forcing him out of Hogwarts wasn't the intention. At least not at this point. Voldemort was still a threat, or his followers were. Well. It was too late. What was done, was done.

Of course, he could influence the successor, considering he did have the ear of several people on the board.

It was then a school elf tottered in from the door leading into the school's guest suite.

“Sir Rasalas, headmaster Dumblydore is asking if you can look after Dark Arts Defence this morning.”

“Oh. Err...”

“'ya should'a saw _that_ comin',” said Brady.

“Go, Rasalas. We'll see you at lunch time,” said Arthur.

Rasalas looked down at the elf. “You can let the headmaster know I'll look after them. But also pass along a message that I won't always be able to.”

“Of course.” The elf popped away.

* * *

_June 9_

The past week proved to be one of the busiest Rasalas could remember, being crammed with not only training at Avalon, but looking after some of the Dark Arts Defence classes. As it was so close to the end of the year, with many having already sat their exams, most of the class was answering questions and reviewing material. Still, it consumed plenty of time, and Rasalas found the amount of free time he had almost non-existent.

Some evenings had been spent in Camelot's great hall, going over intelligence collected by the knights concerning the approaching threat of the Saxons. It was making for long days, and not a whole lot of sleep. Twice already, Rasalas had used his time-turner just to fit everything in.

Saturday, then, Rasalas insisted that everyone unplug. He wasn't seen until nearly 9 am local time, and after a quick breakfast, headed outside to the back patio of the house. His companions were quick to follow.

He found both Ryan and Aaron already present, enjoying the pool.

“F-f-finally got some t-time to yourself, huh?”

“Piss off,” said Rasalas, though he grinned as he said it. “I'll be glad once the school year's done. Looking after even some of the classes, on top of everything else going on right now... bloody hell.”

“Well, at least Dumbledore's staying on until the end of the year. Could've been worse,” said Aaron.

“This is true. I think next week, I'm gonna scale back training at Avalon. It'll only be a couple of weeks and the school will be closed for the summer, and things can get back to normal.”

“Ron and his sister will be staying with us again, right?” Aaron questioned.

“Yeah. So it'll be something like last summer... and I think Hermione's gonna come spend a few weeks, too. And speaking of... they'll likely be spending a bit of time here this afternoon.”

“Having the school connected through the sanctuary, it does provide advantage,” said Arthur.

“Thank the goddess for that. There's no way I would've been able to keep the schedule I had last week, had I been forced to use port keys. That form of travel, as you guys all know, it's taxing after a while. Twice a day is a lot as it is.”

“Speaking of... w-w-we'll be joining you g-g-guys again,” said Ryan, “Ma wants me d-d-doing something.”

“We would be glad to have you both back at Avalon,” said Arthur, “A few of the priestesses have been curious to your absence.”

Rasalas grinned. “Wait 'till you see how Arthur's doing now, without blocks on his magic.”

“Glad to hear that's been solved, sir,” said Aaron.

Shortly after noon hour, both Ron and Hermione stepped out onto the deck, with Ginny and Neville following. Rasalas waved them over.

“So, Professor Peverell, think about a career in teaching?” Neville grinned.

“Well, Mr. Longbottom, I don't know,” Rasalas smirked. “Seriously though, it's a thought. Though I don't know if the board would like how I might go about teaching. Avalon magic does work differently than our modern wizardry. And the DADA curriculum is expected to cover certain topics, both on the O.W.L. Exams and the N.E.W.T. Exams, right.”

“Harry, there are more than a few who would love to learn what you know,” said Hermione. “Maybe you could host a club. I mean, I'm sure you would be allowed.”

“It's a thought. Right now, much of my time's being taken up by training. And even outside of training, it seems like that's all I talk about. So it's not an absolute 'no'... but I'm not saying yes to anything right now.”

“Gran was impressed with your backing Madam Bones and her run for minister,” said Neville, as he claimed one of the deck chairs.

“She was my first choice when all this took off over a month ago.”

“A month? Really?”

“When Fudge wouldn't recall the Wizengamot, Madam Bones came for a visit, and we had a discussion. You guys saw the outcome a couple of weeks ago.”

“Talk about earth-shaking. Only you, Harry Potter,” said Hermione.

That earned yet another grin from Rasalas. “Yeah, chaos and I seem to walk hand in hand.”

“Never a dull moment. So Harry. We're coming to stay with you again this summer, no?” Ron asked, as he also found a seat, with Hermione following suit.

“Absolutely. Since your brother's here, staying in the house... and Mrs. Gibson's here, and so is Mrs. Sawyer, no lack of supervision. But really, you guys are old enough as it is.”

“I'm not quite,” said Ginny, who chose to sit at the edge of the pool, and dangle her legs in the water.

“And that's what your big brothers are for. I already said it before, but I'll say it again. You guys will always be welcome here. You're practically family—your mum saw me as an eighth son, and though I remember little... I cherish what little I do.”

Morning passed into afternoon, with Rasalas content to relax and think about things other than training, or the school, or the problems back in England. He was happy seeing his friends able to blow off a bit of steam, and he made a silent decision to maintain the connection to Hogwarts, as long as the headmaster or headmistress allowed it.

He eventually removed his socks and footwear, pulled of his tee shirt, and dove into the pool, as the day got warm. It was shaping up to be another hot summer, and perfectly honest, he was fine with that. That was then the cue for both Arthur and Brady to join, making for a rather busy pool.

“Greetings, all. Hope I am not intruding.”

Rasalas glanced up toward the house, finding Lancelot.

“No, not at all. Come join us.”

“Too bad we couldn't pay him to dive in without stripping out of his tunic,” Aaron stage-whispered to his mate.

Lancelot shrugged, removed his scabbard, and dove head-first into the pool, much to Aaron and Ryan's delight. He surfaced seconds later, and pushed the hair out of his eyes.

“We'd pay you, but we have nothing to offer.”

“As long as one of you here is able to spell me dry when time comes to leave,” said Lancelot. He swam to the shallow end, but was content to stay in the water.

“How is Gwen doing?” Rasalas asked.

“Better with the nuns. She is in good spirits, if that is your question.”

“We've missed your company.”

“Until only recently, I believed it unsafe to return to Camelot.”

“Had we known, we would have been there when you did. The things Mordred was doing... all of it bordering on insane.”

“And we venture into topics best left aside for today, Rasalas,” said Arthur, “Let us take time away from such matters.”

Rasalas gave a nod. This was true.

The afternoon seemed to race by, and all too soon, Rasalas realized his school friends needed to be back in their dormitories.

“Uh, guys. It's nearly 4 o'clock. The time difference meaning, it's nearly curfew.”

“We're still prefects, Harry,” said Ron. He and Hermione were cuddled up together in an enlarged deck chair that now resembled an outdoor love seat.

“All right. Another hour then.”

It was then that both Betty and Casey stepped out onto the deck, bringing a large platter.

“Get Kreacher or Dobby to help with that,” Rasalas suggested.

“They're already workin' on somethin',” said Betty, “We got it in hand.”

“Oh.”

“Now are your school friends staying?”

“No, it'll be well after curfew,” said Rasalas. “Now granted, Professor Snape isn't around, but Filch still is, so...”

“He's still as nasty as ever,” said Neville, “He's made a fistful of first years cry with his rubbish.”

“Nasty piece of work. Maybe I might lean on whoever the new headmaster or headmistress is, see if we can't get a replacement. He gives squibs a bad name.”

“I'm still appalled by the lack of concern parents show surrounding the abuse your school dishes out,” said Casey, “If Ryan had been a student there—”

“I w-w-w-wouldn't be a s-s-student for very long,” Ryan finished. “'an Ma would prob'ly slap this F-f-filch guy if she could.”

That earned grins from Ron and Neville both. Rasalas, meanwhile, couldn't help but laugh.

“Sorry. Just picturing Filch or Snape's reaction. It would be precious.”

“Parents have a responsibility to protect their children, Rasalas,” said Casey, as she lit the barbecue.

“Except that in the wizarding world, many witches and wizards don't have something called common sense. They expect magic to do the thinking for them. At least that's what I think,” said Rasalas, “So much so that someone who is smart, and evil... well... you see what's happened.”

* * *

The sun had long set, and now the smaller group had gathered in chairs around the small bonfire, with Brady once again plucking out a melody on his guitar. Rasalas was snuggled up against Arthur, content to listen to the conversations between his friends. This sort of day had been needed for some time—perhaps they should have done it sooner.

Granted, with everything that had been going on, there had been little time. But Rasalas realized, sometimes it was critical to make the time, or go spare. It was as simple as that.

Ryan appeared to be back to his old self again, more animated for the first time in two nearly months. His father's death had really hurt, no doubt. Yet, he seemed to be coming to grips with it, at last getting back on his feet. Good on him.

“Before the summer's out, we really should think about going away somewhere,” said Aaron.

“Y-yeah, I like that. Take Rasalas out west 'an s-s-see the Rockies.”

“Banff, you mean.”

“I didn't make it out west,” Rasalas admitted, “The travel brochures I looked at did make it look really nice.”

“Come down to Georgia,” said Brady, “Still owe 'ya a proper tour.”

“That's on my list,” said Rasalas. “And really... something tells me that the Voldemort thing will be solved by the summer. A gut feeling. Whether it's with Viviane's help, or something else.”

It was then a pair of knights rushed out onto the deck.

“Arthur, fellow knights! Urgent news!”

“Let us hear it,” said Arthur, as he and Rasalas separated.

“The Lady Viviane! She has been slain! Saxons, they have landed, flooding our shores by the thousands! They make for Camelot, sire!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas, Arthur and the knights make preparations for the battle ahead; and a suggestion Lancelot makes in the sanctuary's planetarium has some unexpected results..._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So I've twisted a canon event a little... bite me. I did warn of Dumbledore bashing, right?_
> 
> _As to Dumbledore being forced to resign, I'd not really intended for that to happen, but thinking it over, I realized Minerva would never let the memory and compulsion charms slide. The board would be horrified, and it went from there. His resignation was the absolute minimum outcome that's gonna happen here, and count on a criminal investigation._
> 
>  
> 
> _(1) He may have been removed from the I.C.W., but is still chief warlock of the Wizengamot at the beginning of the proceeding. He would normally oversee the proceeding._


	54. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas, Arthur and the knights make preparations for the battle ahead; and a suggestion Lancelot makes in the sanctuary's planetarium has some unexpected results..._

**315\. THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM**

June, 2007

> _“Success depends upon previous preparation, and without such preparation there is sure to be failure.”_

  
_\- Confucius  
_   


It took only a matter of minutes for Ryan, Aaron, Rasalas, Arthur, and Brady to return to Camelot, with Kreacher being sent for pepper-up-potions and sobriety potions from sanctuary's stores. The castle was already abuzz with activity, the great hall filled to overflowing—it was standing room only. All attention was given to a pair of knights who looked wore out, having raced across the countryside as their lives depended on it.

“We have rode since yesterday morning, sire. They come with numbers until now not seen—arrived by boat... many settlements on the coast... already put to the sword... the heathens make for Camelot, we... we're certain.”

“How fast are they travelling?” Rasalas questioned.

“They will reach Camelot tomorrow evening at latest,” said the second.

“Advance parties have been seen, sir,” said the first, “We barely escaped death on one occasion, coming on an encampment... we mistook them for one of our allies.”

“One of the tribes?” Accolon questioned.

“We believe so.”

“The very tribes we have relied on in the past,” said Arthur.

Lancelot, meanwhile, had unfurled a large map and spread it out on the table. “Where was this encounter?”

“We think it was here,” said the second messenger, pointing to a spot mid-point between Camelot and the coast.

“They ain't movin' as quick, so... mornin' after tomorrow,” said Brady. “Got an idea of numbers?”

“Uncertain,” said the first messenger.

“Sir, what about the people outside the castle itself?” Aaron questioned, “If the Saxons reach the castle... lots of people will be in danger, right?”

“He's right, sire,” said Cai, “Protection should be offered to the citizenry.”

There came voiced agreement from a number of knights.

Arthur gave a nod. “It is then ordered. Sir Gawain, see it done.”

“Somethin' else... anyone who can shoot... get 'em up on the castle walls,” Brady suggested.

“Those skilled in archery, you mean,” said Arthur. At Brady's nod, Arthur said, “So ordered. Our numbers shall be stretched as it is. A call should be made for those with any combat skill, that they join in battle.”

“Where was Viviane killed?” Rasalas questioned.

“We found her body and those of her protection here, we think,” said the second messenger, pointing to a spot not far from the coast. “They had stopped to make camp, as evidence suggested, and were likely taken by surprise.”

Rasalas made a sour face. “The Lady of the Lake, taken by surprise?”

“Y-y-you're thinking s-s-set up,” Ryan guessed.

“Very much so. Those responsible... it's an abomination, plain and simple. Fawkes.”

The phoenix appeared in his customary flash of golden flames, while Rasalas produced a sheet of paper and a pen, and scribbled out a quick message. “To Morgaine, urgent. We'll meet her in sanctuary.”

Fawkes accepted the rolled up paper in one of his claws, and vanished the way he came.

“Sire... my friends, uh... Accolon, Cai, Bedwyr... let's get back to the sanctuary. I need access to the planetarium map. Rest of you, there are things you can be doing... we'll return shortly,” Rasalas decided.

A few minutes later, the smaller group was gathered in the sanctuary's planetarium. Rasalas quickly marked the two locations on the map, and zoomed it in as close as he could.

“It is a shame it cannot show individuals,” said Lancelot, “Such a thing would—”

What sounded like a book falling to the floor had everyone looking out the door leading back into the common room. Given the circumstance, Rasalas, Brady, Aaron, and Ryan investigated, while the rest of the knights present drew swords, ready to protect their King.

The source of the noise turned out to be yet another journal, along with a scroll. Ryan picked it up and opened it, only to groan in frustration. “Of c-c-c-course it had to be w-w-written in Latin.”

“That's what _Google Translate_ is for(1),” said Aaron, “Go get your laptop.”

“You guys figure out what it's for. Meantime, we have to keep working. Even if this stuff's what I think it is,” said Rasalas.

Ryan headed back into his bedroom, Aaron in tow, while the others returned to the planetarium.

“Nothing of concern?” Arthur asked.

“The sanctuary's having a bit of fun again,” said Rasalas, rolling his eyes. “Ryan and Aaron are working on it.”

“Back to it, then,” said Arthur, “Given the clarity of this map, this location would be the most ideal battle line.”

“It gives us the high ground, and will give us ample time for preparation,” said Lancelot. “It is called—”

“Camlann,” Rasalas finished, as the label appeared at the location, “We know.”

Brady flicked a hand at the map, reverting it to its modern-day profile. CAMLANN was replaced by QUEEN CAMEL, as the modern-day settlement filled in.

“I still find it astounding, the power of this map,” Cai remarked.

“'an we's still not sure all it can do,” said Brady.

“I think we'll find out shortly,” said Rasalas. He flicked a hand at the map, restoring the historical version.

“Given the valley here—” Arthur pointed to a spot close to the pointer, “It's likely to become the battlefield.”

“So if we set up a series of traps in the tree line here,” said Rasalas, pointing to a copse of trees forming the southwestern edge of the area, “We could take out some of the enemy before they even enter the fight.”

“Thinking of Aaron and Ryan's favourite magical attacks, how much difficulty would there be in creating a deploy-able trap that works the same way?” Accolon questioned.

“You're thinkin' spikes comin' from the ground,” Brady guessed, to which Accolon gave a nod.

“Definitely do-able,” Rasalas agreed, “And we do have some time to get that sort of thing in place.”

“There is concern that such traps may harm fellow knights,” said Bedwyr, doubtful.

“We can put in measures that can prevent that,” said Rasalas.

“'an I have some ideas,” said Brady, “Couple'a huntin' tricks—cheatin' really, but... if it'll drop a buck, it'll drop a man.”

“All options are on the table, Sir Brady,” said Arthur.

It was then Fawkes flamed in, with Morgaine clutching his tail feathers.

“It is true? Aunt Viviane is dead?”

“Messengers arrived with urgent news only an hour ago, my lady,” said Cai, “We informed Arthur at once.”

“We are assessing the situation, sister,” said Arthur, “But Avalon is threatened, just as Camelot.”

“Parchment and a quill, quickly,” said Morgaine.

Rasalas reached into his pouch, pulling out a page of paper and a pen. “This suffice?”

“Well enough.”

She went over to the drawing table, and scribbled out a quick note, then rolled it up.

“If Fawkes is willing...”

Fawkes fluttered over to land on the table.

“To the sisterhood at once. They will know what to do.”

Fawkes accepted the rolled note, and flashed away.

Only a moment later, both Ryan and Aaron stepped into the room. They brought with them a stack of printed paper.

“Thank the goddess for Aaron's t-t-typing skills.”

“And for the brevity of the journal, considering it was written in Latin,” said Aaron.

“I assume it brings us useful information,” said Arthur.

“Oh, v-v-very. Ras, s-s-since this is your, uh... property... it's y-y-your show. Put this on the console—” Ryan held up the scroll, “—and well... it's...”

“It's a spell,” Aaron picked up, “The phrase is 'Vivunt Animata'... uh... live animated, the translation.”

“Hand or wand movement?”

“Touch the scroll to the pedestal and speak the phrase,” said Aaron, “Nothing else.”

“What else does the journal tell us?” Arthur questioned.

“Just an explanation of what it does... as Sir Lancelot so wished, the map will give us a real-time picture.”

“Thinkin' more than a few people would be bothered by that,” said Brady.

“I think in this circumstance an exception can be made,” said Arthur.

“And we still don't know just how much detail we'll see,” said Rasalas, “I'll be surprised if we see more than just dots, right.”

He stepped up to the pedestal at the centre of the room, and noticed how the orb still mounted on its centre now seemed to be pulsing a deeper blue. That matched the scroll in his hand, which now shimmered a deep navy blue shade.

“All right. Here goes nothing.” He touched the scroll to the orb, and there came a near-blinding blue flash, as they met. God oh God, was it bright! The entire room seemed to light up from the effect. And if that was the appetizer...

“ _Vivunt... Animata!_ ”

The light rapidly transcended the visible light spectrum, from violet up through to red, and back again, and Rasalas felt every hair on his body stand on end. The floor shook a moment, before what seemed like thousands of gassy lines shot off through the door back out to the common room—all of them being a different colour.

“Great Goddess...” Arthur whispered. He was feeling the exact same sensation as Rasalas.

“Uh... ditto,” Rasalas muttered. “Thinkin' that was just a trigger. Feels like Avalon magic.”

“Ryan?! Aaron? What's going on?!” came Casey's alarmed voice from the common room.

“M-ma? It's o-k-k-kay. Just cast s-s-some p-powerful magic,” Ryan answered back.

Casey still hurried into the planetarium, only to stop in her tracks, seeing the surge of threads wafting through the doorway. “Great goddess...”

“Lord Peverell?!” Auror Jackson questioned, also hurrying into the chamber. “What in the world...”

Only now was the massive surge of threads beginning to dissipate. The air, however, remained charged with magical energy, the orb on the pedestal at the centre of the room still pulsing, cycling through the visible light spectrum in rapid succession.

* * *

Five hours ahead, at Hogwarts, students and staff were in the midst of breakfast, when the air momentarily charged with magical energy, with the torches on the walls all flaring up for a moment, before returning to normal size. All conversation died for a moment, before becoming much more animated, with everyone talking about the disturbance.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, frowned. It felt like Peverell's doing. What was the young wizard up to now?

'Doing the bidding of the Goddess, doing what is right, headmaster,' the voice of the castle snarked in his mind, 'Something you have neglected to do for some time.'

“My word,” McGonagall whispered, mostly to herself.

* * *

_Temporary Saxon Camp,  
Southwest of Camlann_

The camp had been awake since dawn, with the invaders already finished their meager breakfast. At that very moment, every torch in the camp, every flame, every campfire flared to three times its height, if only for a second, before returning to normal.

It would send the camp into a fervor, with no one able to determine the source of the clearly magical event.

* * *

The thousands of magical threads had finally faded, and the pedestal at last settled to its blue shade from earlier, but the map on the floor began to light up with many small dots. Equally, the map dimmed, now representative of it being dark over England—the small dots now creating small light spheres that seemed to cast a glow... and as a clump of dots, showed up as a brighter light.

“Bloody hell...” Rasalas muttered.

Arthur motioned to the map and zoomed in on the mass of red-coloured dots, and was momentarily surprised at just how much detail the map provided. While it didn't show face detail, everyone could still make out what the people were wearing, how they were equipped, and in what direction they were headed.

“This... this is astounding,” said Lancelot, “Our next consideration would have been to scout the enemy's location... but this...”

“It shall save us the trouble, Lance,” Arthur finished.

“It'll be useful even in our present,” said Aaron, “Be able to look at stuff going on, y'know, stuff like that.”

“I won't have this used for spying,” said Rasalas, “And beside the point, you'd need to know what you're looking for.”

“The numbers do concern me,” said Arthur, “I see some of our tribes allied instead with our enemy.”

“Thank Mordred's silver tongue,” said Rasalas, “My bets, he's been speaking to them since day one of joining Camelot.”

“It would not have been a decision made overnight, I agree,” said Arthur. “No matter. They choose to ally with the enemy, then so it shall be. They shall receive no quarter, no mercy.”

“The battle with the Saxons has arrived,” Casey assumed.

“It has,” Arthur answered.

“Ma, w-w-we're going to help.”

“I expected nothing less, dear. As much as I'd like to tell you 'no', I know it's not my place. All I can ask, is you to be careful.”

“I'm willing to lend my wand,” Auror Jackson offered.

“No. Though part of me would like the additional assistance, involving official government support may not be wise,” Arthur answered.

“History's already being twisted up a bit as it is,” said Rasalas. “Just... continue to watch the property. I doubt there'll be a problem, but... never know.”

It was then a second Auror hurried into the room.

“Uh... Sir Peverell... DMLE head wants a word.”

“As if this can't get any better.”

“I'll fire-call Kate,” Brady offered, and hurried out of the room.

“Kreacher.”

It took a moment before Kreacher popped in. Rasalas momentarily mentally berated himself for waking the elf, but...

“Apologies for waking you, but we have a problem. I've got Mr. Young waiting at my front door. Could you show him into the sitting room, offer him refreshments? We'll be down in a few minutes.”

“Of course.” Kreacher bowed low, and popped away.

“Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Magical backlash probably went for miles.”

“Through no fault of your own,” said Arthur, “We had no indication the spell would cause such an effect.”

“The government still frowns on such things, sir,” said the Auror.

“And considering the department head himself is here...” said Aaron.

“You have been in trouble for similar circumstances,” Lancelot guessed.

“During the Beltane rite. And it was Casey who conducted the ceremony,” said Rasalas, “We ended up with a fine for causing a magical backlash. Thing is, we really don't have time to deal with this sort of rubbish right now. These dots on the map, they represent the Saxon invasion. It's happening right now, before your very eyes. So my attention has to be there... not with an unfortunate side effect of spell work which was critical to the operation.”

It was only now that the Auror noticed the map and its incredible detail.

“Damn. The detail this shows... it would be insanely useful to the department!”

“And for now, the ministry can't know,” said Auror Jackson, “Maybe we might convince Sir Peverell to share his technology, but in the end its his call. If you can't keep it quiet, we'll _Obliviate_ you and you'll be reassigned, simple as that.”

“All right. But seriously, the DMLE could use this.”

“Once a number of things are resolved, count on us inviting the DMLE and the minister in for a visit,” Rasalas promised.

Brady then returned, with Kate in tow.

“Let me guess. You've broken the statute of secrecy again.”

“Should have bought a lottery ticket,” Aaron snorted.

“I felt the magical surge myself, I'll have you know... considering I live in west Toronto.”

“D-d-damn. That's like, eighty clicks from here.”

“C'mon, Ry, there had to be thousands of magical threads that shot from the pedestal when Ras activated it.”

“And what I'm seeing on your map is the result of your spell work, I would assume,” said Kate.

“Exactly. The chamber's had a little bit of fun with us when Lancelot suggested something. It wasn't as far-fetched an idea as he—and I for that matter, thought.”

“You realize, it's likely thousands of non-magical people felt this event, Rasalas. Be prepared for a nasty fine, that's at a minimum.”

“Well, let's go speak with him, get it over with.”

“We will continue here,” said Arthur.

* * *

No surprise, Rasalas found the DMLE department head seated in the sitting room, with a pair of Aurors keeping him company. Kreacher had done as asked, and provided a tea service and refreshments.

“Sir Peverell,” said Mr. Young, rising, “Quite an awful disturbance you've managed to instigate—again.”

“As I have already warned my client, I felt the disturbance myself, in west Toronto. So we are somewhat aware of the magnitude—”

“An estimate that also falls short, Miss Lewis,” said Mr. Young, “We were still getting reports of magical detectors being set off when I left the office. Last report came from Montreal... and the American Department of Magic is also posting inquiries, and nearly activated a protection protocol.”

“Protection protocol?”

“Post nine-eleven stuff,” Mr. Young Clarified, “Had they done so, we would've had to follow suit, and only a lot of fast-talking on my part prevented it, part of which will be you explaining this incident to my American counterpart.”

“It was felt in Washington,” Kate assumed.

“It was. Now as serious as that was, Darlington Nuclear plant has shut down because of the backlash... I don't have all the information in front of me, but as I understand it, the backlash damaged some of the equipment that connected the plant to the provincial power grid.”

“And with nowhere for the electricity to go, the plant shut down,” Kate assumed. “That would cause an electricity shortage... the province will have to import more power to make up for the shortfall.”

Rasalas had to think a moment.

“Shit... and there's no way I could help fix it—physically, or financially.”

“So the question, Sir Peverell. What in the world did you do, that caused this much chaos?”

“Short of it? Doing the bidding of the Goddess. Long of it? We have access to a rather detailed map. As I've already promised some of your Aurors, I'll let you and the minister for magic have a very close look at it once a few pressing issues are put to bed.

“The magical backlash was by no means intentional, but brought about when an advanced feature of the map was activated. The gist of it, it was an unlocking spell that tapped into the earth's magic.”

“Avalon magic,” Mr. Young guessed.

Rasalas gave a nod.

“Auror Jackson's been keeping me up to date with some of the things you're doing, if not all. We do know the necessity for secrecy, so we don't ask to many questions—”

“Yeah, you might not like some of the answers,” said Rasalas.

“As was said by the minister,” Mr. Young agreed, “However, you have once again caused serious disruption to both the magical and non-magical population... this time on both sides of the border.”

“I have my cheque book ready.”

“Be warned, it will be substantial.”

“You know you cannot do anything further,” said Kate, “He does have status above the Canadian ministry.”

“But I do have to be held to the same standards of everyone else,” said Rasalas. He grinned. “How about I offer a million galleons to the Canadian DMLE... you guys can use it to train up more Aurors, get better tools, whatever...”

“Sir Peverell...” Kate cautioned.

Mr. Young, meanwhile, was wide-eyed by the offer. “That's... a lot of money... and it could be seen as a bribe.”

“It could. But given I've inconvenienced a lot of people, it's only fair. Obliviator's office might be busy with this, office of Misinformation, Muggle-worthy Excuse Committee... they're all in your department, right? It's my own penance. And do note, I make this offer in front of my solicitor.”

“I'll deduct the total of the fine from your contribution,” said Mr. Young, “I'll send the official citation along with Auror Jackson, likely later today.”

“You have my deepest apologies for the inconvenience,” Rasalas said. “I'll work out a statement for the press and send it through Kate.”

* * *

Rasalas at last returned to the sanctuary's planetarium, and found everyone still gathered, reviewing the map.

“Looks like whatever we did woke the bees' nest,” said Aaron, “Everyone's hurrying about looking for the source.”

Rasalas smirked. “Good luck figuring out what it was.”

“And how did the meeting turn out?” Arthur questioned.

“The DMLE's getting a very substantial donation, and I'll be fined for the incident... no indication of how much yet, but it's gonna be a lot. The disturbance was felt in Montreal and Washington, at least as far as Mr. Young was aware when he left the office...”

“It's likely the magic was felt everywhere, Rasalas,” said Morgaine, “Every creature alive would be touched by it. Look. A herd of deer, bedded down for the night.”

She gestured at the map, indicating a small herd of deer resting in a copse of trees, southeast of the Saxon camp.

“Hope they don't fine me for every incident... bloody hell.”

“A matter best dealt with after this more pressing situation is put to bed,” said Lancelot, drawing everyone's attention back to the Saxon camp. “They number in the thousands.”

Arthur moved the map so it centered back on Camlann. “We have but a day to make preparations.”

“So we make it count,” said Aaron. “Uh, sir... we could use a bit of help, four or five people.”

“What for?” Rasalas wondered aloud.

“Molotov cocktails,” Aaron answered, “We have lots of gas back at the house, and we can transfigure things into bottles, right?”

“And what might a 'molotov cocktail' be?” Arthur questioned.

“It's a b-b-bottle filled with flammable s-s-stuff. We s-s-stuff a rag in the top. When we light it and th-throw it at an enemy, it b-b-breaks and explodes.”

“Gasoline or diesel?” Auror Jackson questioned.

“We have both, but gas works better.”

“Got any Styrofoam?”

“Uh... I th-think so,” Ryan answered. “The white fluffy stuff they use to p-p-pack things in.”

Casey seemed to think a moment. “Packing peanuts. I think there's a bag of the stuff tossed in the attic, dear.”

“Mix some of the packing peanuts with the gasoline,” said Auror Jackson, “Let it sit for a while and the Styrofoam will dissolve into the fuel.”

“You're talkin' Napalm,” said Brady.

“Exactly. Not only does it explode into flames, it sticks to whatever it lands on. Quite effective against groups of enemies.”

“Right, that's rather scary,” said Rasalas, “Why on earth would you know about that?”

“The department does spend some time studying non-magical tactics.,” answered Auror Jackson, “We study both police methods, and tactics used against law enforcement in the past. Molotov cocktails are a favourite tactic used during riots and civil unrest.”

“Pepper spray,” the second Auror suggested, “We could probably get you guys a few canisters of it.”

“It would have to be by the end of the day,” said Arthur, “There will be little time tomorrow morning.”

“We'll need to be at Camlann by the sunrise,” said Lancelot.

“We will have people at the battlefield long before,” said Rasalas, “If we are to have ample time for preparations, get traps in place, we'll need the day as it is.”

* * *

_June 11_

Rasalas was awakened by someone prodding his foot.

“It is just before midnight, Sirs,” came Kreacher's bullfrog voice.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” said Rasalas, sleepily.

The dreamless sleep potions had been a good idea. All of the knights had been given a dose to ensure everyone was well rested. Rasalas knew that without it, he would have been kept awake with thoughts on the upcoming fight. The battle at Hogwarts had been with no warning, no chance to worry over it.

This battle... they had known right from the beginning it was coming. A lot of people would die, and Rasalas was unable to prevent any of it. He'd had plenty of mental debate about his reasons for taking part... but it all came down to supporting Arthur. Arthur had supported Rasalas on many occasions, and it was only right he return the favour at his most critical time of need... even with what was likely to come. Was he ready to say good bye for good?

“We should get dressed, 'an not need come back here,” said Brady.

“I have similar thought,” Arthur agreed.

He flicked a hand at the wardrobe he'd set up, summoning his heavy leather armour. It had been some time since Rasalas had seen him wear it. Another flick of the hand had him dressed.

Brady smirked. “Take a picture, Ras... it'll last longer.”

“Piss off.”

Now it was Rasalas' turn to do the same thing. In this case, he'd put on a pair of jeans, the motorcycle chaps he'd been given for Christmas, a tee shirt, and a heavy navy tunic Bedwyr had got him only a few weeks prior. Up to this point, it hadn't been used. To complete the outfit, he put on the armour he'd been given for Christmas. Another gesture of the hand affixed a pin to his chest which represented the Peverell line.

“Best get used to using that one,” he said, mostly to himself.

Brady, meanwhile, went with his jeans, chaps, and heavy leather jacket. Like Rasalas and Arthur, his equipment had a number of charms placed on it to make it more durable, and highly resistant to damage.

It was then there was a knock at the door. “You guys up?” came Aaron's question.

“Yeah. Come in.”

The door opened, and both Aaron and Ryan stepped into the room. Both were already dressed.

“B-b-b-before we get g-g-going... uh... Dobby?”

_Pop_. “Mr. Ryan sir called for Dobby?”

“Yeah. Here. My camera. You mind snapping a picture of us together?”

“Ryan...”

“No. I would have it done, Ras. Let the memory be preserved,” said Arthur.

Brady, meanwhile, smirked, remembering his comment of only a minute or so ago. The five of them arranged, with Arthur in the middle, Rasalas at his right, and Brady to his left. Ryan and Aaron knelt in front. Arthur drew his blade, and rested the point on the floor.

“Whenever you're ready, Dobby.”

* * *

Breakfast was set out in the great hall—Arthur had insisted that everyone eat together, and Rasalas fully agreed. That day, it was necessary that everyone be on the same page, to function as a single fighting force. Very little was said as people ate, with the focus being entirely on the great challenge ahead.

“Guys, if we could all stand,” said Rasalas, seeing as most people had finished.

At Arthur's encouragement, everyone stood.

“Hand in hand, or hand on shoulder, so we are all linked... good. Ryan. Your show.”

Ryan bowed his head.

“Blessed mother of the earth, heavenly father of men... w-w-we stand before you t-t-today, asking for your s-s-s-strength, wisdom, and g-g-guidance, as we go into battle against t-t-tyranny, and protect this l-l-land against our enemies. Grant all of us the s-s-s-strength and will to prevail, and let those who f-f-f-fall today, know your face, hear y-y-your voice, feel your love, as they g-g-g-greet friends and k-k-kin on the other side.”

“Blessed be,” said Rasalas.

“Amen,” Brady whispered.

With that, the gathering broke, with several groups heading in different directions. Most would be on horseback, while a few other groups would be on foot, given a different task. Given the battlefield was only a few kilometres away from the castle, they would still easily arrive at the site with time to spare. Estimates put the enemy arrival at Camlann about mid-morning at the earliest.

Rasalas, Arthur, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron all took to the air, and flew just ahead of the knights, while Lancelot, Cai, and Accolon lead the knights on horseback. Behind the mounted force, were three different groups on foot, all of them armed with a pouch filled with Molotov cocktails. The bombs were all magically shrunken down and sealed, only needing the user to pull one out for it to be restored to original size. It automatically lit when thrown, saving the worry of it harming the user. It had taken a few hours' work to get sorted out, but worth it, according to Aaron.

As they neared the battlefield, Arthur was surprised to find a large number of people already present: some of the peasantry from Camelot and the surrounding area, all armed and ready to fight alongside their King. So too had a few of the tribes, much to Arthur's relief. Not everyone had been swayed by Mordred's poisonous tongue.

Still, Rasalas knew it would be not near enough. The enemy was easily ten times the strength, and the magical contingent was up to this point unknown. Care had been made to warn the knights about the additional danger, but most of the militia would be unaware. No matter what, there would be many deaths here.

Now, as they crested the hill, they could see the army of Saxons had reached the opposite side of the field. The stage was set. Arthur and his companions touched down, and Arthur handed his broom to Rasalas.

“My companions! Friends! Allies! All of you stand here with me as we face down a great, fearsome enemy who now threatens Britain's very future. They have plundered our coast, murdered thousands of innocents, intent on foisting savagery and barbarism across our land.

“It ends here, today, on this field. We fight to the last man, we give no quarter; for no quarter will be given us by the enemy! God and the Goddess willing, we will see this day through, that our lands be once again safe, our descendants be free!”

The massed force of defenders cheered and shouted, spurred by the King's words.

“As to my future. Be it known in front of all of you, before God and the Goddess, that Sir Peverell shall carry on my name, my title, and my kingdom, should I fall this day.”

“Sir...”

“No matter my fate here, Camelot must carry on. I trust you will do that which is right... that which is necessary, to preserve all we hold dear.”

Now, Rasalas felt an odd sensation strike him from head to toe, and he knew. _Something_ had changed. Just how much, he wouldn't know until they returned to present-day. The massed defenders, however, roared and cheered with approval. Their King was securing their future, establishing a very clear line of succession, even if it wasn't through blood. After all, Royal Prerogative was a rather powerful thing. Still...

“Arthur... sir... you can't...”

“I can, Rasalas, and I have done. Now speak as my war-duke, that we might bring an ending to things.”

Rasalas again bowed his head, but then stood tall, and pressed a finger to his throat, amplifying his voice.

“Make every shot, every strike count. A quote I read goes something like, ' _What we do in life, echos in eternity_.'(2) I think that line cannot be more prudent, than here, today, this moment in time. We face insurmountable odds, but not impossible. Nothing is impossible, if we put our hearts, our minds, our faith, and out trust, into the task at hand.

“Trust your friends, your companions. Do so, and we will once again join at the round table, our land and our future secure. But no matter what, fight with courage.”

The defenders cheered again, as Arthur, Rasalas, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron again took to the sky. It seemed like the signal as—

“Arthur. Look, a little right of centre,” said Lancelot.

“Here.” Aaron reached into his pouch and pulled out a pair of binoculars.

It wasn't the first time Arthur had used them, and so he quickly focused on Lancelot's directions. He let out a snort.

“He's joined the Saxons. Should we be surprised?”

Rasalas had no doubt as to who they were talking about. Arthur, meanwhile, handed the binoculars back to Aaron, then drew Excalibur from its sheath. The Saxons were already beginning their advance, and so Arthur levelled the great blade at the enemy. Nothing further needed be said, as the defenders started off, to meet destiny head-on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Rasalas and his companions join Arthur and the knights of Camelot, as they attempt to defend Britain from the Saxons. Hold onto your butts. And yeah, major warning upcoming: Graphic violence, gore, character death._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So we've arrived. The battle of Camlann. I'd originally planned on the battle taking place in this chapter, but the theme seemed mostly about preparation, and so I've once again moved the actual battle into its own chapter. But really, we're there this time, no going back, no more postponing it. And I do warn, it's not a happy ending. If you've read 'The Mists of Avalon', or know Arthurian legend, it really isn't. And as much as I'd like to change things... good grief, I've changed a bunch of stuff already._
> 
> _As for Arthur naming Rasalas/Harry his successor... hmmm... some interesting ramifications that might come out of this now, eh? When can Harry ever be normal? :p_
> 
> _(1) Can't remember if Google Translate was around in 2007. Correction is welcome._
> 
> _(2) Virtual cookies to the first person to name the movie in which this quote was used, also during a pre-battle speech. >:D_


	55. The Battle of Camlann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas and his companions join Arthur and the knights of Camelot, as they attempt to defend Britain from the Saxons. Hold onto your butts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Virtual cookies go out to **megsjedi** , one of my regular readers, for guessing “Gladiator” as the source of the quote used the previous chapter. Of course, thank you to all of my readers, new and old, taking the time to read my stories, and leave comments, follow, subscribe, you know the drill. Hitting the like/kudos button below only takes a second, 'ya know. ___
> 
> _**WARNING** : Graphic violence, gore, character death._

**ACT 3, EPISODE 16  
THE BATTLE OF CAMLANN ******  


June, 2007

> _“No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first contact with the main hostile force.”_

  
_\- Helmuth Karl Bernhard Graf von Moltke (paraphrased)  
_   


* * *

As they advanced on the enemy, it seemed like they just kept pouring over the crest of the opposite hill, spilling through the copse of trees. Of course, they had all seen it on the map the previous day... but still... to see those numbers for real... if Rasalas had to admit, it terrified him. There were numbers present Voldemort could only dream of. There had to be a way of cutting down their numbers...

“Hang on,” said Rasalas, remembering something he'd done before. It had been rather effective against Voldemort's followers during one of their meetings... so. What was good for the goose... he let go of the broom, and braced himself in the stirrups, then cupped his hands together. To the others watching, it looked like a black cloud of something sprang forth.

“What're 'ya gon' do, make it rain?” Brady wondered.

“Nope. Something I did against Voldemort's followers a while back. It was pretty effective then, so...”

Now the cloud seemed to take on a life of its own, homing in on the advancing Saxon horde.

“And what might that be?” Arthur wondered.

“Bees. Africanized bees, to be specific. I read it in some text book a while back. Their stings are extremely painful, and enough of them can kill a man quite easily. And our climate here, any that might survive... they'll die come winter.”

The advancing enemy, meanwhile, were puzzled by the approaching cloud. What sort of weapon was that? Such a foolish thing, thinking they, the mighty Saxons, would be afraid of—

And suddenly, men were collapsing left and right, as the cloud descended among them. Bugs... bees, they quickly realized, as the effected advancing column disintegrated into chaos. Hard to walk in a line, when you're too busy swatting away angry bees and all that.

While the advancing line of Saxons became temporarily stalled, militia skilled in marksmanship set up for their first shot, raining down a storm of arrows to the right flank of the enemy forces. That coincided with the first Molotov attack, which worked beautifully. The wicks only lit when the projectile was thrown, while the impact busted the container and doused the target with its flaming liquid. It was rather horrifying, Rasalas had to admit mentally, seeing people running around completely engulfed in fire.

Unfortunately, the enemy answered back with a volley of arrows of their own. Though many used shields to deflect against the onslaught, a number of men, most of them militia, were cut down by the attack. Some were killed outright, while others lay with horrible wounds. Worse still, there was no chance to help them at this point; Rasalas had to remain focused on what was ahead.

Then—

“DUCK!!” Aaron shouted, and Arthur was forced into a steep ascent, as no less than five green bolts of magic narrowly missed the spot he'd been in moments earlier.

“They have wizards. I find myself un-surprised,” said Arthur, as his companions joined him at the higher altitude.

“Anyone see where it came from?”

“There,” said Aaron, pointing to the far side of the advancing enemy, “Hiding in that clump of bushes.”

Ryan made a harsh sweeping motion with a hand at the spot Aaron had pointed to, and the vegetation seemed to come to life, entrapping a group of wizards in plant-formed binds and ropes.

“Th-th-that should keep them b-busy.”

“Won't keep 'em long. Just kill 'em,” said Brady, “They's enemies, they die.”

Ryan gestured again, and the vegetation finished the job, suffocating the trapped victims.

“They're continuing their advance,” said Rasalas, “Should be getting to the first traps... now.”

The spike traps had been a modification of Ryan and Aaron's spike projectiles. Brady made a few suggestions, the result being that they sprang from the ground at an angle, designed to injure or kill the enemy's mounts. A second spike would then injure or kill the rider.

The result was spectacularly gruesome, and Rasalas knew the horrible sound those horses made while being impaled in the chest by the spikes would haunt his dreams. There had been a lengthy discussion about how barbaric it was... and should Hermione ever find out...

No matter. It was a terrible evil that had to be done—cripple the enemy's means to make war, including damaging their assets. Horses were war assets that had to be removed from the equation. The traps proved to be deadly effective, rendering a third of the mounted force out of commission within a matter of a half-minute.

With the advancing line stalled again, both the Molotov units and the archers launched their second volley into the confusion. Coupled with the previous volley, black choking smoke began to hang over the battlefield—an unforeseen factor, Rasalas had to admit.

Seeing the remaining mounted unit attempting to route around the perceived traps, Rasalas made a gesture with the hand, removing the traps that had been triggered, and redeploying them a short distance in front of the new route. Of course, the traps were disillusioned, and so the enemy had no way of seeing them.

A minute later, hundreds more horses and riders were slaughtered by the brutal traps. And, as last time, the dead and dying were bombarded with another volley of Molotov cocktails.

This time, however, before Rasalas could move and reset the traps, a storm of red magic blasted into the burning mess.

“Not this time, cowardly wizards!!” came an amplified voice across the battlefield.

“Shit. Traps are compromised,” Rasalas muttered. “No matter. Ryan, Aaron, do what you guys do best. Gloves off, guys!”

That seemed to be the signal, as both airborne and mounted units set off in a rush to meet the onrushing enemy on the other side. The sky then lit up with dozens of blasts of magic, most of it being green bolts. Arthur personally blocked three different attempts with Excalibur, and Rasalas shuddered, imagining the terrible power being driven into that weapon.

Ryan and Aaron once again teamed up, unleashing a storm of debris toward the advancing enemy. The cloud was reminiscent of their teamwork at the ministry back in January... but larger, more cohesive, more organized. They had grown a great deal since, it only made sense.

Brady, meanwhile, unleashed a few of his own tricks, namely hurling a massive blob of water at the far left flank, which burst as a torrent of water. He followed it up with a deadly freezing charm, which froze nearly fifty men in their tracks. Their last thoughts would be the dire wish for warmth.

Closer and closer the two armies came, and the Molotov units unleashed one last attack, which landed close enough that Rasalas could swear he felt the heat from the explosive fireball which followed. More men were stumbling around fully alight, their flesh literally being melted from their bones.

At last, the two armies clashed, with the first lines of men crashing deep into the opposite side's ranks, and now the real battle began.

“We're still terribly outnumbered,” said Rasalas.

“Numbers are not the only thing that win battles, Sir Rasalas,” said Arthur, as he prepared to unleash another spell. “Skill and intelligence go much further, agreed?”

“Yeah, agreed. Still—”

Rasalas found himself forced to duck from a pair of killing curses, and so answered back with a storm of red magic of his own. The spells impacted with the ground where a group of enemy wizards stood, and though they had erected shields, the spell upended the ground itself, sending the wizards flying. Arthur then followed it up with spells of his own, setting them alight. Fire seemed to be the theme for the day—Brady excluded.

* * *

Lancelot found himself surrounded by three Saxons. Two of them were smaller than he was, the third being somewhat larger, and wielding a longer blade. No way was this a fair fight, he stormed in his head, while he attempted to defend against the difficult odds. All of them were quick, skilled with the sword, as they clashed again and again—he was forced to dodge and parry, feeling the blade narrowly miss, while a second grazed his left leg—lucky, perhaps...

The blades met again, and this time he managed to knock one of the attackers to the ground, and leave a mark of his own on the man's forearm, the blood splattering to the ground. That, unfortunately left him open, and the larger man pierced his left side with his blade. Lancelot let out a sigh, feeling the sharp blade enter, and leave, but forced himself to stay on his feet.

“Strong, this one is,” said the largest man, in broken English.

“We will cut him to size soon enough,” said the prone man, getting back to his feet, and levelling his blade at Lancelot.

Lancelot could feel strength leaving his body, and knew the wound was fatal. There would be no chance for help to arrive soon enough... but it did not mean he couldn't take at least one of them with him. He lashed out with a ferocious volley of swings and hacks of his own, refusing to give in to his body's demands—these animals must pay!

The Saxons pressed back, and one more time, Lancelot felt a blade pierce his body, this one in his lower back, and he buckled, knowing the wound had damaged something much more vital. As he collapsed, he took one final desperation swing, and took mental satisfaction, feeling the blade strike flesh and bone. The largest assailant collapsed, the blade having sliced a terrible wound across the man's shin bone. It hadn't quite broken the bone, but the man now lay on the ground, his eyes watering from the excruciating pain the wound was causing.

Lancelot could feel the life seeping out of him, but he smiled to himself anyway, knowing the man collapsed to the ground beside him would be very little threat to anyone else.

* * *

Rasalas, Arthur, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron were still aloft, using the air as a strategic advantage. From there, they were pretty much immune to melee attacks, and up to this point, had been able to avoid most ranged weaponry. Aaron had become quite proficient in either vanishing or redirecting oncoming arrows. Most of the time he sent them back at the enemy, forcing them to duck their own projectiles (and if he were honest, he found it rather amusing, making them think twice about shooting at him and his friends).

That luck eventually ran out, however, as Rasalas felt something strike the tail of his broom, and it lurched. A moment later, the broom began to buck violently, doing everything in its power to throw its rider off.

Arthur pulled up close, and hauled Rasalas onto the back of his own, while the damaged broom began a free-fall to the ground, satisfied it had accomplished its goal.

“Bloody hell... must've done something to the broom. We're grounded, it's not safe,” Rasalas muttered.

About a minute later, the five of them touched down at the side of the field, which was then a thick haze of dark smoke. The fires touched off by the Molotovs had naturally spread, with clumps of trees being fully ablaze at this point. It presented a double-edged sword: those thickets would be useless to hide in, but the smoke was providing a mask of its own, never mind the choking fumes.

“Bubble-face charms, 'fore we suffocate,” said Brady, as though seeing Rasalas' thoughts. He touched a finger to his face, and a bubble instantly appeared. The others quickly followed suit.

Rasalas, meanwhile, summoned his damaged broom. It took only a matter of seconds for the object to zoom into his hand. On a quick inspection, he knew it would have to be serviced.

“Same thing that happened back in the summer. Need to look into ways of preventing—”

The five of them whirled around to find a group of Saxons thundering through the brush. Rasalas and Brady didn't hesitate, and two of them were felled with magic. One of them was blown backward with such force, he slammed against a tree, blood oozing out of his ears, nose and mouth. He collapsed to the ground and did not get up. The other was 'spaced', as Brady termed it—sent straight up vertically to a terrifying height, then let go. They didn't actually reach orbit by any means (though Brady was tempted to try it), but the fall was certain death.

“Gravity's a bitch,” Brady smirked, while Arthur, Ryan, and Aaron tangled with the remaining two.

Arthur, too, gave a feral grin. “I just need to pierce the skin, and you die. Excalibur's poison will see to it.”

“Arthur...”

This only angered the Saxons, who pressed the King even harder. However, Rasalas saw his opening, and with a flick of the hand, one of the attackers found themselves impaled by a massive spike which had shot up from the ground.

Now outnumbered, the remaining assailant turned to run, but Aaron and Ryan would have none of it, and he too found himself impaled, this time by thousands of nails.

“Sire... Ras... Brady...”

They turned to find Accolon hurrying toward them. He looked a mess, with numerous cuts and scratches covering his body and face. His armour was half-destroyed, in many ways mirroring the condition of its owner. He looked half-dead.

“You should be dead,” said Rasalas, “Sit, let's see to your injuries.”

“If you will. My handle on healing spell work is suspect,” said Accolon, as he conjured a seat for himself. It took several tries.

“There has been little opportunity for me to care for my injuries.”

“Just sit still,” said Rasalas, as he flicked a hand, removing the knight's armour.

“How many have you slain?”

“I have lost count, sire.” He hissed, feeling one of the deeper wounds in his back start to close up. He blinked, seeing the corpse laying in a heap against a tree nearby. “Some of your handiwork, Ras?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Why are you all on the ground?”

“They were attacking our brooms directly,” Aaron answered, “Ras decided it's safer for us on the ground from here on out.”

“And I am no delicate flower,” said Arthur, “That we stand and fight alongside our allies, rather than above them, this feels more natural, even with additional risk.”

“A fair argument,” Rasalas conceded, as he continued to cast healing charms on Accolon's injuries.

“Ras... w-w-why not just s-s-summon Fawkes? He can d-d-do a better job, right?”

“Brilliant. Fawkes?” Rasalas called.

The phoenix appeared in his customary flash of golden flames, and a wonderful string of notes which lifted everyone's spirits, if for a few moments. He lit upon Rasalas' shoulder, looking at everyone expectantly.

“Hello, Fawkes. Care to help out our friend here?” Arthur questioned.

Fawkes let out another string of musical notes, before hopping down onto Accolon's lap. He looked at one of the nastier wounds located on his upper leg, and drooped his head. Accolon could feel the healing magic taking hold.

“Thank you, friend,” he said, softly. “A few minutes' rest and I shall be back in the fray.”

Fawkes suddenly let out an indignant squawk, and everyone was confused a moment, before the bird simply lifted into the air, opened his mouth, and swallowed an angry green blast of magic that seemed aimed straight for Arthur.

“FAWKES!” Rasalas exclaimed, horrified, as the bird exploded into a blast of golden flames, and fell into Accolon's lap, rendered small, wrinkled, and flightless.

Rasalas was momentarily relieved, while Brady, Arthur, Ryan, and Aaron answered back with a blast of spells. Now what to do? He summoned a stone from nearby. “ _Portus_ .”

It shimmered blue a moment.

“Accolon. Take Fawkes back to the sanctuary and place him on his perch. Borrow some healing potions from my stores, fix yourself up and come back.”

“Of course.”

Accolon stood up, cradling the now fragile chick, and took the port key. “Activate.” He vanished in a blur of limbs.

“Uh... Ras... you didn't provide a return trip,” said Aaron.

“Shit.”

* * *

Accolon landed awkwardly in the sanctuary's common room, and only his fast reflexes prevented Fawkes from tumbling to the floor. He regained his balance, and looked around. No one present.

“Come along, Fawkes, let's get you settled in your perch.”

“ _Preep_!”

“You saved Arthur's life, you know. Bird or not, he may make you an honorary knight or something.”

He crossed the room, and set Fawkes in the cradle which had appeared in his perch—something only present while Fawkes was recovering from a burning day. Looking himself over, he realized he still had a number of nasty injuries to look after, and so ventured into Rasalas' room, and the potions cabinet.

Having been around the young wizard going on a year at this point, he knew which potions were appropriate for which ailment—or injury. Though in this case, he was looking for healing salves instead of a potion. Then again... perhaps Healer Theresa might be a better choice... but—

He mentally groaned. Rasalas had failed to provide a return port key back to the battlefield. Sure, he could probably walk back into the castle, but... by the time he got back to Camlann, it would likely be long over.

He huffed. Almost as if Rasalas had intended it! 'Wouldn't put it past him,' he thought, as he made his way over to the fireplace. Returning to the common room, he tossed a pinch of floo powder into the fire, calling out, “Upper Canada Hospital!”

* * *

Bedwyr knew he was in trouble. In close, against two enormous Saxons. One of them wielded an enormous double-edged axe which was caked in partially dried blood, evidence of the massacre at the hands of its owner. He was being forced to dodge both sword strikes and powerful blows from the axe, while the two men bickered in Germanic—at least he thought it to be. Foreign, and he didn't understand a word of it.

He spun around and ducked, narrowly missing a blow from the axe, only to feel something pierce his back. He all but froze, seeing the bloody tip of an arrow protruding from his chest, blood now squirting around the shaft. He collapsed to his knees, and the last thing he saw, was the bloody axe coming at his head, while the two Saxons continued to bicker, perhaps about third party interference.

* * *

Rasalas, Arthur, Brady, Ryan, and Aaron were then making their way across the field, fighting and dispatching Saxons they came across. Between the five of them, they worked well, as they relied completely on magical skill to get the job done. Rasalas was somewhat relieved things had gone pretty smoothly up to this point, but he knew they still hadn't encountered Mordred yet. He'd already warned Arthur to be careful around his former son—not to underestimate him. Of course, this time around, Arthur wouldn't be facing him alone, and this time—

A strange crackle of energy surged all around them, and Rasalas felt cold water run down his back and then up it again—a disillusionment charm might as well have been cast... that's exactly what it felt like. But this... he had a very bad feeling. He flicked a hand out, attempting to cast a spell, and his fear was confirmed, as he couldn't.

“What happened?”

“Magic nullifier,” said Rasalas, reaching into his pouch and producing his Elder wand, “They've done the unthinkable.”

“Shit. Makes us d-d-d-dead weight,” Ryan muttered. He reached into his pouch, and produced his wand. Brady, meanwhile, produced his twelve-guage shotgun.

“How much ammo you carrying?” Rasalas asked.

“I won't run out,” Brady answered, gesturing to his pouch, “Got a truckload in here, just in case.”

“We still must determine the source. Were you able to guess from which direction it was?” Arthur questioned.

“That way,” Rasalas answered, pointing southwest, toward a thicket of trees. They were barely visible from the blanket of smoke which covered the battlefield. He lay his wand flat in his palm, and commanded, “Point me!”

The wand lay still.

“That should work. _Lumos_!”

That also did nothing.

“Shit. All right, this is beyond bad.”

“D-d-ditto,” Ryan muttered.

“Make us a port key back—”

“No. Need you guys here. Beside the point, I couldn't make one even if I could. Uh...” Rasalas dug in his pouch, and pulled out his nine-millimeter Beretta Brady had given him for Christmas.

“No, I got it,” said Brady. He reached into his pouch, pulling out a pair of identical weapons. “Know you guys aren't great shots, but better than nothin'.”

“Thanks.”

With everyone armed with less-magical weapons, the quintet set off across the smoldering battlefield in search of the nullifier's source. Perhaps he might flay the one responsible alive, desecrating the natural order of things so. Not even  _Voldemort_ had ever attempted something so vile, so disruptive, so devastating. The entire area already felt... dead. Beyond the hundreds of corpses that now littered the field. It was as if the land itself were dying, even that within the soil. It was... monstrous, nothing short of an abomination.

“When I find them... they will be answering to the Goddess directly. This is an atrocity,” said Rasalas, malice in his voice. Even then, he could feel her presence, stirring at the edges of his consciousness, much as had happened during his confrontation with Belletrix.

“They have d-d-disrupted Avalon's magic,” said Ryan, softly, “The earth itself w-w-will die here.”

“It's exactly the case—”

_BOOOM_ . Brady's shotgun sent a charging Saxon to the afterlife, the twelve-guage buckshot making an enormous hole in his midsection. Two others also felt the sting of the group's firearms, and Arthur was swift to finish them off, stabbing both with Excalibur.

“Sir Brady, go with Ryan and Aaron. I need my first knight to join us,” said Arthur, “We shall press on toward our target.”

“Sir,” said Brady, simply.

“Are you... are you guys sure?” Aaron asked.

“Go. Quickly, and get back to us,” said Rasalas. “For that matter, round up anyone else you can find. This nullifier is a priority.”

“Sir,” said Ryan and Aaron both, and the three of the hurried off.

“Should we locate the problem, it is best we keep out of sight and wait for support,” said Rasalas, “I'd bet the house on there being a throng of guards and protection around it.”

“As my instincts also suggest,” Arthur agreed.

* * *

The healers from Upper Canada Hospital finally left, leaving Accolon to wonder what to do next. He'd not been confined to a bed, and so he wandered back into the entry with intent of going back into Camelot.

To his alarm, he found the door leading back to Camelot had not only closed, but was  _gone altogether_ ! All that remained was the clock overhead, and a smooth wall! And, just as had happened only months prior, the door into the planetarium had sealed, and no matter what he tried, the door wouldn't budge.

Alarmed, he was back in front of the fireplace. “Gringotts!” he commanded, tossing a pinch of floo powder into the fire, and he plunged his head into the roaring fire.

“How can I help you?” questioned the goblin at the other end, coldly, a sneer fixed on his face.

“Bill Weasley, needed, urgent matter.”

“And what sort of urgent matter that would demand the attention of our senior cursebreaker?” another goblin sneered.

“Business concerning King Arthur and his knights, and one of your wealthiest clients!” Accolon snapped, taken aback by the cold treatment he was receiving.

“Stand down Vemicos,” said another voice, “You're addressing one of Arthur's knights and you'll treat him with the respect he demands. Sir Accolon. What might be the problem?”

“Sir Rasalas may be in trouble, and I need the assistance of Mr. Weasley at once. He needs to return home.”

“I'll have him located. Please accept my apologies for the boorish behaviour of my colleague.”

“All is forgiven, friend. Now I must make a further fire-call for additional advice.”

“Of course.”

Accolon withdrew from the fire, then tossed another pinch of floo powder into it, this time calling out, “Law firm of Lewis, Wells, Gill & Fletcher!” and once again stuck his head into the fire.

This time, he was greeted with the handsomely decorated reception area of the noted law firm.

“Can I help you?” questioned the receptionist.

“On behalf of Sir Rasalas Peverell, needing advice from Miss Lewis, urgently.”

“She's not arrived at the office yet, but I can have her return fire-call you in a few minutes. Does she know where you're fire-calling from?”

“Sanctuary. She will know what it means,” Accolon answered.

“Give her a few minutes, then.”

“Thank you.”

Accolon again pulled his head out of the fire, feeling a bit light-headed. Fire-calls were something he didn't do very often, and so having done two back to back... he stumbled back to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, and sat down heavily. Why did the door vanish? Was Rasalas and his friends all trapped fourteen-hundred years in the past? The consequences...

The fire in the fireplace roared a brilliant green, expelling Bill from them. He dusted himself off.

“Accolon. What's going on?”

“The door to Camelot... it's gone.”

Bill looked alarmed, knowing Rasalas and his friends were presently at Camelot, or not far outside of it. “Say again?”

* * *

Rasalas and Arthur were nearing the copse of trees suspected of hiding the nullifier. Rasalas was certain it would be a stone of some sort, since no wizard was capable of an enchantment that could affect such a massive area. No, this was runic magic at a minimum, and no question, powered by the dark arts.

“Look at the trees,” said Arthur, as he too began to notice the effect. As if starved for both water and nutrients, the trees and plants nearby were wilting in the early afternoon sun.

“The nullifier's sapping the very life from them,” said Rasalas, “If this were left here, everything would be dead, likely in a couple of weeks, guessing by how quickly it's working. It demonstrates graphically, just how vital the earth's magic is... to disrupt it like this... I'm still horrified by it.”

“Look. Lookouts,” said Arthur, pointing a little to the left.

“Got 'em,” Rasalas answered. The pair ducked down behind a downed horse, and Rasalas reached into his pouch, pulling out what looked like a long cylinder. He screwed it onto the end of his pistol.

“Silencer,” Arthur remembered.

Rasalas gave a nod. “Wish I had Brady's sniper rifle though... this is gonna be tricky. Lucky we weren't seen.”

He cautiously peered over their gruesome choice of cover, confirming the pair of lookouts were still present... then spotted a few more. This complicated matters. One went down, no matter what, it would be seen, and they would be on alert, searching for the source of the attack.

Brady had been quite thorough with firearms training, covering a wide variety of topics, that included silent take-downs. Dealing with multiple targets, one could only be sure with the first hit. After that, it became exponentially more difficult—never mind the unseen factor: how many bad guys were out of sight? Worse still, he was operating without magic for the first time ever. So no disillusionment charms, no Apparition, no port keys. Completely non-magical, and quite honestly, it scared him.

Arthur reached up, and put a hand on Rasalas' shoulder. “Relax. Trust the Goddess.”

Rasalas sucked in a breath, and looked down the sight of his pistol, focusing on his chosen first target—the one furthest... the most difficult. He exhaled, again re-checking his aim. He sucked in a breath, his finger lightly brushing against the trigger... then... squeeze/exhale.

The Saxon lookout dropped like a sack of stones. Then, as the other turned to look where the shot might have come from, he too, was felled by the second shot. So too, did the third lookout, but that was it. The others were already shouting alarm, and a throng of Saxons charged out of the thicket, looking for the source of the attack.

Both Rasalas and Arthur were startled, however, to see a group of knights charge from behind, to clash with the fortified location.

“Sir Gawain! Your arrival is most timely,” Arthur greeted, as Gawain dismounted.

“Sir Brady and friends warned us of your difficulty. There had been question as to why a number of invaders left the field. Reason is now known.”

“Nullifier,” said Rasalas, “They're using a magic nullifier. Thing is, they're also crippling their own forces, so it's a completely level playing field.”

“Until it can be disabled,” said Gawain. “I assume that would be the plan.”

“A priority,” said Rasalas, “It'll be a stone, large object of some kind. It has to be destroyed. It'll be acting like an anchor.”

“If opportunity presents, Excalibur will be most suitable,” said Arthur.

Rasalas gave a feral grin. “Imbued with more than a dozen killing curses? Oh yeah. And even without... an artefact enchanted by the Goddess herself... wouldn't have any difficulty against the dark arts.”

“We waste time,” said Arthur, “Let us join battle, and bring an end to this evil sorcery.”

With the extra support present, Arthur, Rasalas, and the knights charged into the copse of trees... to come to a grinding stop at the sight before them. A massive black sphere sat in the middle of a dimly-lit clearing,  perhaps fifty Saxons gathered around it. And, in front of the sphere, stood Mordred, wearing the garb of a Saxon, and a headdress featuring the skin and skull of a dead animal.

“Well, well, well,” Mordred mocked, “Dear old father, come to seek forgiveness from your bastard son, have you? Or have you come here to _die_ , such as Camelot and Briton shall in time?”

“I warned you...”

Mordred laughed out loud. “Let us see your 'Avalon' magic work here. It is we, the Saxons, who hold control here. And with this stone, we will see Avalon's magic be siphoned away for eternity. For you see, as friends have shown, the power of the dark is great... greater than one can ever fathom.”

Rasalas stood there, horrified. This man... these things... “You're a mad man. Plain and simple. You have no understanding what you're doing here! None of you! You'll not only kill every living thing here... you'll kill YOUR VERY SELVES! What is it that you're not GETTING here?!”

Mordred laughed again. “Do not heed this serpent's lies. The darkness will provide, such as it will provide our Saxon allies.”

Rasalas quickly weighed his options. His pistol had a full clip, and plenty of ammo in his pouch, but the time it would take to reload... he 'd be swarmed. There didn't seem to be archers present—so that was something in their favour... but little else.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Mordred hissed, “Seize them!”

Now Rasalas was forced to act, as the gathering of Saxons swarmed toward them. Arthur thrust Excalibur in front of him, skewering the first man who dared get close, and charged at his son, who had already drawn his blade. Rasalas opened fire on the charging Saxons, dropping four of them immediately, and causing most of the others to hesitate, afraid of the strange weapon he was using.

The knights, meanwhile, charged into the mass of enemies, swords swinging. It was a case of skill against numbers, and while the knights were more than skilled in swordsmanship, the Saxons had numbers—five to one. So it was no surprise that, while the knights most certainly were cutting down the numbers, the numbers were taking out the knights, one by one.

Rasalas himself continued to fire wildly at the threatening Saxons, who were by this point backing up toward the ominous obsidian sphere. One of his shots went wide, and struck the sphere, causing it to shimmer, and with it, Rasalas felt the magic surge and pulse through the ground and air, if only for a few moments.

“NO! KEEP HIM FROM ATTACKING THE SPHERE!” Mordred shouted.

Now, Rasalas and Arthur both knew. The sphere was vulnerable.

“Ras...” Arthur again dodged another deadly attack from Mordred. “Shoot it!”

Now Rasalas was swarmed by five Saxons, all in an attempt to keep him from shooting the sphere. He dug into his pouch, and drew his short sword for extra protection. At this point, he was unsure of whether the enchantments on his armour would do a whole lot of good, seeing how Accolon had been injured earlier.

He managed to shoot two more Saxons, before—

The head of the nearest attacker seemed to slide off his neck in slow-motion, and the body remained upright for a moment, before sagging and collapsing to the ground, a marionette whose strings had been cut. The source of the attack landed beside Rasalas.

“Let's even the odds a little,” said Gawain.

“Great timing,” said Rasalas, “Keep 'em busy a moment.”

While Gawain kept the remaining Saxons occupaied, Rasalas quickly reloaded his pistol.

“Ras! What—” Arthur again ducked another blow from his former son. The bastard was keeping Arthur with his back to the sphere—smart of him. But... what if...

Rasalas again took aim at the sphere, while Gawain kept the onslaught at bay. This time when he shot it, the sphere ripped an angry red shade, as another surge of energy rippled across the ground. Rasalas was ready, and sent a blast of flames at a pair of Saxons who were getting too close, and sent them flying into a clump of attackers who were trying to pull another knight from his mount. The fire spread to them rather quickly.

“NO! Stop him!” Mordred again screeched.

This time, Arthur saw an opening, and swung wide in an arc, Excalibur making a noisy CLANG as it connected with the sphere. Mordred too, took opportunity, and Arthur let out a sigh, feeling the blade pass through his side.

The sphere flickered angrily as another storm of energy rippled across the ground, and this time, it did not dissipate—a nasty red gash had been left across the sphere, which let the magical energy bleed from it.

Rasalas, however, was more concerned about Arthur. He sagged to the ground, while Mordred stood over him, smirking.

“So ends the Pendragon line,” he mocked, “Britain shall die with you here, and so shall Avalon.”

“Avalon will live on,” said Arthur, defiantly, “You have won nothing here.”

And with all remaining strength, he swung Excalibur one last time in a massive arc, slicing across the sphere, carrying through, and slicing Mordred, even though the man attempted to avoid it. It ended up slicing him up the midsection and across his face.

“It is you who will die here, Mordred,” said Arthur, as he again sagged to the ground.

The remaining Saxons were too shocked to do anything, seeing their leader and the sphere both dying before their eyes. The remaining knights were making quick work of them, and so Rasalas and Gawain hurried to Arthur's side.

“Sire...”

“Arthur,” Rasalas whispered, “You... let me see.”

“N... no. Both you and I know... how this has to end,” said Arthur, softly. “The Goddess brought us together... such as they brought Gwen and I together... and I thank her for it.

“Now I must go... but... there is one last thing... we must do.”

He again picked up Excalibur, the blade feeling many times heavy as his strength was failing him.

“Help... me... finish this.”

“Arthur...” Rasalas whispered, his eyes welling up with tears.

“We must...”

“Ras... you have to,” said Gawain. The knight still remained stoic, though his heart too was breaking. His king, his friend... was dying in front of him.

“I...” Rasalas knew Arthur was right. He knew this time would come... and here it was. So he reached out a hand, and gripped the great sword, helping Arthur to bring it up one last time. It sliced into the sphere, causing it to hiss, the whole sphere shimmering in a brilliant red shade.

“Oh God,” Rasalas whispered, and the last thing he saw, was a tremendous bright white flash. And, as the white light consumed them, Rasalas thought he heard a faint, keening wail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: “The Crossroad” - lots of fallout from the battle. Of course, if you know HP canon, you know what's coming next, right?_
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: So it is done. The nullifier, I had to do it to level the playing field a bit. I think it worked out pretty well in the end, tidying a few things up quite nicely._
> 
> _But either way, the battle of Camlann is over, and we're just left to clean up the mess... and it's a big mess. Stay tuned!_


	56. The Crossroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rasalas experiences the void for the second time, but this time gets answers to a few questions, and is faced with a critical choice regarding his future._

**ACT 3, EPISODE 17  
THE CROSSROAD  
June, 2007**

> _“Here's the way it works. You're going to find yourself at a crossroads. There's going to be a decision you'll have to make, an action to be taken or not, a choice between polar opposites. All of what you are and what you have been and what you could be will be measured on your decision. And the consequences? They don't just affect you. They affect everyone. This is not simple life and death - it's about eternity. Yours. Others'. Do not underestimate how far this goes.”_

_\- J.R. Ward_

* * *

The void again. At least that's what Rasalas believed it to be. The stillness, vast, empty expanse, the feeling of floating. It was a year ago all over again, except... something was different.

Rasalas closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he found that A) he was absent clothes, and B) Arthur now floated beside him.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“I... this... this was where I met the Goddess, or her shade... a year or so ago,” Rasalas remembered. Now if he could have some clothes—

As if something had heard his desire, he found himself fully dressed in a set of clean navy blue robes. He looked around again, finding the scene was changing, brightening up, with a solid white surface spanning for as far as the eye could see.

“I... okay, this... this is different.”

“What happened to us?”

“The explosion... it... I should've realized that would happen. It was working like a massive vacuum, right... all that stored magic would need someplace to go, and... being ruptured... God, poor Gawain. It killed everyone in the clearing, I'm sure of it.”

“And it had to be done,” came another voice.

Now, the blank surroundings were beginning to fill in, with grass filling in beneath their feet, trees, a pathway, a lake... and now Rasalas recognized the location: the Lawn of Avalon, its symbolic tree green and nourished, rather than completely barren such as the last time he'd seen it. The mist, too, was nonexistent, save for the distance, only serving to cloak the isle, rather than envelop it and smother it.

A group of people were approaching, and Rasalas recognized all of them: Sirius, James, Lily, and Viviane.

Sirius looked younger than Rasalas could ever remember, handsome and tall. His appearance was not ravaged by years of being locked up in Azkaban.

James was a little shorter than Rasalas, with dark, untidy hair, and glasses perched on his face in lopsided manner.

Lily, meanwhile, had long, red hair, and brilliant green eyes. Rasalas felt a little guilty that the glamour the goblins had applied so long ago now had changed his own.

Viviane looked as imposing, and as beautiful as he last remembered seeing her, but like the others, she too had lost some of her age. Her hair still flowed in ringlets, and even here, she had an aura of power about her.

Another man walked alongside her, and Rasalas was momentarily confused. He was larger than any of the men present, nearly a head taller. He too, looked young and vibrant.

Arthur, though, beamed. “Father!”

“It is I, my son.”

“Sire,” Rasalas bowed, realizing who it was.

“A King no more,” answered Uther, offering a forearm, which Rasalas gripped enthusiastically.

“All the same, well met. Uh... I guess you all know each other already, so, uh...”

“Be still, love,” said Lily, “We've all been watching you. My brave, wonderful son.”

And now, Rasalas found himself in the warm embrace of his mother for the first time in memory. He wanted to hold on forever, to make that moment last forever... but they finally broke apart, and he was forced to rub his eyes and suck in a breath, or lose all composure.

He sucked in another breath, reining in his emotions.

“Uh. Mum, dad. Uh... Arthur Pendragon. Arthur, my... my parents, James and Lily.”

“An honour to meet you, love,” said Lily, as they embraced.

“The honour is all mine,” Arthur answered, as they separated, and he shook hands with James. “Your son bears the heart of a lion, there can be no mistake.”

“Arthur...”

“Admit it Rasalas... on the battlefield today, you challenged the enemy head-on, flinched not one second. Your last act, knowing not the consequences, landing us here.”

“Yes, indeed, that we stand here, says much of your character,” said Viviane, beaming.

“So I've died,” Rasalas guessed.

“Something has died, yes, but you, my wonderful boy, are still very much alive,” said Lily.

Rasalas was puzzled. The magical blast... killed everything, yes—wait.

“The Horcrux,” he said, simply.

“Indeed. Your mother's protection is rather potent,” said Viviane, “Only amplified many times over by the love of others. It speaks volumes that Arthur stands here beside you, instead of facing his own afterlife.”

Arthur looked down at the ground a moment. “That I still do. I carry no such protection, and so we will have to part ways, should you wish to return to the living.”

“That's if you wish it,” said Sirius, “I strongly doubt anyone would fault you for joining us. You have faced tremendous challenges and struggles through your young life.

“Much of it is the fault of others—your life is not something to be wished on someone so young.”

“No one should be faced with the kind of life you have at times suffered through,” Viviane agreed.

“But... it's the life I was given,” said Rasalas, “Not that I had much choice in the matter. Thing is, it's what someone does with it that matters, right? Some whiskered wanker said that to me—or something like that to me a few years back.”

That drew a laugh from some, scowls from others, depending on which side of the fence they sat concerning the outgoing Hogwarts headmaster.

“I still ask you to think very carefully on the matter,” said Viviane, “You have a life not yet lived. There is still much good to be done, and given your position and power, you can help the world to be a better place. You have a circle of friends who will continue to love and support you, and help you. More importantly, you deserve a happy ending amongst the living, rather than an early afterlife. Does that make sense?”

“I... I guess,” Rasalas conceded.

Arthur pulled Rasalas into another hug, and separated.

“You must know, Brady loves you as much as I do,” said Arthur, “He will take my place if you let him.”

“It... it will be hard. I've... I've grown used to the both of you.”

“As you will also grow used to having only Brady. Make him happy, and take care of him. That's a king's order.”

Rasalas grinned briefly, but was again forced to rub his eyes. They were so right... to remain in the afterlife would be a mistake.

“I... but... mum, you... you and dad aren't upset that there won't be any children?”

“Why should we be, son?” James questioned, “The only thing that matters to us, is whether or not you're happy. And beside the point, there are ways the line will continue. If magic wishes it, it will fashion a way.”

“Fair answer,” Rasalas agreed.

He thought for a moment.

“Viviane. Your death...”

“Was necessary, child,” answered Viviane, “There was no way it could be avoided, you must realize. Just as you knew Arthur could not be spared for any reason... both were hard, fixed events which were bound to occur no matter what sort of action was taken to prevent them.”

“It still saddens me. Just as Dumbledore used to be a mentor, so were you. And quite honestly, you were far better, not having an endless set of ulterior motives.”

“Young Rasalas, I'm sure there is very little else Viviane could teach you, with your skill,” said Uther, “The magic around you will do your bidding, you only have to ask.”

“Unless...”

“Yes, unless a dark mage does something unthinkable,” said Viviane, “Even I was appalled at the act. Had those responsible survived, the Goddess would have acted.”

“Vengeance seems not her style, your grace.”

“Not directly, Rasalas,” Viviane agreed, “But she can most certainly have someone act in her stead.”

“Me,” Rasalas realized, “Just like what happened to Lestrange. She channeled through me to deal out justice.”

“Remember, it was not vengeance, or justice, but restoring balance,” Viviane corrected him, “Lestrange did things which were unspeakable, pulled the natural order of things far out of balance.”

“But... Voldemort did things far worse!”

“Yes, he did. And you were the instrument of his ending, were you not?”

“But... why couldn't she just have... stripped him of his magic, like—”

“Because she can never directly interfere,” said Lily, “Even the interference she has done...”

“As she has already told me before,” Rasalas remembered, “So this was the only way.”

“Yes, love, sadly it was.”

“It... it's what I have to accept, then. If it means Voldemort—”

“Tom Riddle. It was a foolish name he created for himself, Harry,” said Sirius.

“Yeah, agreed,” Rasalas agreed, “But whatever he called himself... he's gone. I... what will the Goddess do with him here?”

“Such as she's done with others who've followed him,” answered Viviane, “Here, in this place, if someone has travelled a path which has been filled with poor choices, they will be forced to reflect on them, to witness the effect their choices have had on those around them. Both in their present, and that of the future. Eternity can be a long time, do you not agree?”

“Those who have made plenty of wise choices in their life, still reflect on those choices, but are united with others,” said Lily, “And, like yourself, are given the choice to remain here, or to return anew.”

“Reincarnation, you mean,” Rasalas guessed.

“Eventually, all are given that choice.”

“Will you take it?”

Lily and James both knew where their son was going.

“If we do, you would never know it was us, son. It would mean a completely new life, with new experiences, and new choices.”

“Oh.” Rasalas looked down, seeing the fleeting hope of meeting his parents again in the world of the living, evaporate.

“Do not be sad, love. We will always be with you. Here,” said Lily, placing a hand on Rasalas' chest. “We exist inside of you, we're part of you... and no one can ever, ever, _ever_ , take that away from you.”

“Just like I will be with you always,” said Arthur, placing his hand beside Lily's. “You should know, I have left you something a little more physical. You will receive it in a few days. Also. You must collect Excalibur from my body. It's yours now.”

“But wait. Doesn't that belong to the Goddess?”

Viviane laughed. “There is no one more suited to wield it than you, Sir Peverell, or should I say, Crown Protector Peverell. You act in Arthur's stead, and so it is only fitting you carry his tools as well.”

“Crown Protector?”

“You will find, Rasalas, that you wield a great deal of power in the wizarding world at large,” said Uther, “Even without Pendragon blood. Know that many nations in the world originate with Britain's rule, and so will fall under your authority in one way or another.

“These tools will allow you to keep much of the magical world in check, and perhaps drag Britain kicking and screaming into modern times.”

“Well... that's gonna be Madam Bones' job, sir.”

“Nonsense. She'll be more than happy to have you at her side as the changes are made.”

“You guys knew Amelia,” Rasalas guessed.

“Though not a member herself, members of her family were in the original Order, son,” said James.

“But most importantly, you have Avalon's magic behind you, and that will make all the difference in the world,” said James, “So make it count. Our world can be many times better than it is now.”

“I know, dad.”

Silence fell over them for what seemed like several minutes. Rasalas hated having to make a decision, but... he knew it was in front of him. On the precipice, and the choice stung no matter which way he fell: remain here with his love and his family, yet abandon his closest friends and someone else who loved and adored him... or return to the living, leaving his parents, his godfather, and Arthur, the one he loved and adored above all others.

Yet... returning meant, making a difference, such as James had said. Helping Amelia Bones reform the ministry; make the world safer for his closest friends such as Hermione and her family...

“I... I have to go back,” Rasalas finally said, softly.

“Don't think we resent your choice, dear,” said Lily, “You have your entire life ahead of you.”

“See it well-spent,” said Arthur, “Remember, I will always be with you, no matter where you might go, who you might be with, and that I will love you with all my heart.”

The pair embraced tightly once again.

“As I will always love you, Arthur.”

They separated, only for him to be swept up once again, this time by both his mother and father.

“We are so proud of you son. You may be the Goddess' champion... but you were ours first,” said James, proudly. 

Rasalas felt his eyes once again prickle, knowing for certain how proud his parents were of him. To hear them speak it, meant the world.

They then separated, only for Sirius to embrace him.

“Knock the world on its arse, kiddo. Goddess knows they need it.”

“Count on it, Sirius.”

He then found himself embraced by Viviane.

“Your training is concluded, child, but never stop learning. There is always something out there, a lesson to take, perhaps fail, and try again.”

“Then... my time at Camelot is also at an end,” Rasalas realized.

“Staying would not be productive,” said Arthur, “Only a handful of people have survived the battle, so our exploits, both magical and not, shall remain stuff of legend.”

Rasalas nodded sadly. Arthur, of course, was right. To remain at Camelot, might introduce further changes that could be disastrous.

“We can still... clean up and so on.”

“Yes. I think the Goddess will permit one or two transits into Avalon, before it is sealed for good,” said Viviane. “The sisterhood will have recovered my body. So take Arthur's body with you back to Avalon. They will know what to do.”

“What will happen to them? The sisterhood?”

“The Goddess will provide. But to outsiders, Avalon will vanish for good. But you know this was to happen. Nothing you could have done would prevent it.”

“I... I know.”

“It's time you get back, son. Others will begin to worry,” said James.

“I... yeah, you're right. But... I have one more question. Is... is this real? Or is this just happening inside my head?”

Everyone smiled broadly, while Sirius grinned madly.

“Of course it's happening in your head, kiddo! But tell us why on earth it would be any less real?”(1)

* * *

 

_**END OF ACT III** _

> _“I think scars are like battle wounds - beautiful, in a way. They show what you've been through and how strong you are for coming out of it.”_

_\- Demi Lovato_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: Back from his meeting in the void, Rasalas and friends say goodbye to the dead, and also say goodbye to Avalon for the final time._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Now you guys KNEW this sort of scene would come up, right? Only fair that Harry/Ras meets with his family. Except that this time, going back does not mean facing a madman one more time. Voldemort is gone for good here._
> 
> _Of course, there is still a fair bit of fallout upcoming, mostly dealing with a funeral, and Rasalas saying goodbye to Avalon for good. But, this most certainly ends part three, as the major battles are concluded._
> 
> _Now granted, there are still a few battles ahead, but nothing like what's been presented in part three. A couple of battles of a political sort, and of course, Brady's gonna be conflicted regarding a couple of things, but... we definitely start to wind down the story, so just a few more chapters ahead._
> 
> _(1) Paraphrasing the last couple of lines from Chapter 35 of Deathly Hallows. I thought it would be appropriate that Sirius gets to answer Harry/Ras' question._


	57. "Goodnight, Sweet Prince"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Back from his meeting in the void, Rasalas and friends say goodbye to the dead, and also say goodbye to Avalon for the final time._

**ACT IV: BALANCE**

> _“The Goddess holds all things in balance: good, evil, death, and rebirth. The predator and the prey. Without her, destruction and chaos will prevail.”_

  
_\- Viviane, Lady of the Lake, High Priestess of Avalon_   


* * *

  
**ACT IV, EPISODE 1**  
**“GOODNIGHT, SWEET PRINCE”  
June, 2007  
**  


> “ _Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight, sweet prince;_  
>  _And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”_  
> 

  
_-William Shakespeare, “The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark”, 1602_   


* * *

Rasalas slowly regained consciousness, the wooded area slowly replacing the lawn of Avalon. His head still swam, but he could make out a few others gathered around.

“Ras? 'ya hear me?” Brady was asking.

“I...” Rasalas closed his eyes, and opened them. The black sphere was gone, its demise marked by a large scorch mark on the ground. He could feel the earth's magic once again humming around him, no longer being held prisoner by the dark object. It looked like everyone else—friend and foe alike—had been all but vaporized by the blast. Even some of the trees immediately close to the sphere had been obliterated, letting the smoke-masked sun penetrate the area.

Arthur, however, like Rasalas, had not been physically damaged by the explosion.

“Is he...” Brady began, but he knew the answer already.

“He's gone, guys,” Rasalas answered anyway, “I met—”

“Ras... th-th-that can wait. Cai n-n-needs your help.”

It was then Rasalas noticed the injured man. He looked worse than Accolon had earlier—death warmed over.

“Ryan... you mind taking Cai back to the sanctuary? See to his injuries... Accolon should still be there.”

“S-s-sure thing.”

“I'll go along,” said Aaron, while Rasalas created a port key.

“We need... I need to take Arthur's body to Avalon, and we'll be along after.”

“Ras... y'okay?”

“Brady... just... I'll explain soon. Let's, just... help me up.”

Brady offered a hand, lifting Rasalas back onto his feet.

“Guys... get Cai back to sanctuary. I'll be there in a few minutes after... after I get Arthur back to Avalon.”

“All right.”

Aaron took the port key from Rasalas, and with Ryan and Cai touching it, he activated it. They vanished in a blur of limbs.

“Our turn. Get close.”

Rasalas quickly created a second port key. Brady gripped Arthur by his left arm, and got a hand on the port key as Rasalas activated it. They arrived moments later on the lawn of Avalon.

“Rasalas! Where...” The question was answered before Morgaine could finish it. “My little brother,” she said, barely above a whisper, “What happened?”

“Mordred had a few wizard friends,” Rasalas answered, while a few other priestesses hurried over. “They set up some sort of magical nullifier. It quite literally started draining the ambient magic in the area, made both Aaron and Ryan useless magic-wise. Arthur fought him... it... he was stabbed...”

“But surely with the number of alternate tools at your disposal...” one of the sisters began.

Rasalas only shook his head. “There was no chance. We were surrounded by nearly a dozen Saxons. I was fighting them off alongside a few knights. Thing is, it wasn't the wound that finally killed him... we destroyed the nullifier together... it caused a massive backlash.”

“Made a second sunrise,” said Brady, “'an the whole area charged up a sec.”

“And it would,” said Morgaine, “All of that energy had to go someplace. I still wonder how it was you managed to survive, Rasalas.”

“I survived. Voldemort's final Horcrux on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.”

“So he's gone. For real this time,” said Brady, looking hopeful.

“Oh yeah. Very. Look, I'll explain everything back at the sanctuary. There... we still...”

“We're preparing for Viviane's funeral pyre... and it seems we must also prepare for Arthur's,” said Morgaine.

“Arthur told me to bring his body here,” said Rasalas, “I had a brief chat with him, Viviane, Sirius, and my parents in the void.”

Morgaine looked surprised. “You stood in the void... the bridge between the living and the dead?”

“Though it morphed into a carbon-copy representation of here,” said Rasalas.

“And Arthur was with you?”

“Yeah. He... we met with his father, he was there too—Viviane acted as his escort.”

“We should get back to sanctuary. Others'll be wonderin' wha's takin' so long,” said Brady.

“Uh... right. One last thing before we go.”

Rasalas knelt down beside Arthur, and undid his scabbard. “Both Arthur and Viviane insisted I collect Excalibur.”

“And it would only be proper that you carry it, Rasalas. I would suggest you also collect his armour.”

Rasalas frowned a moment. “That was Arthur's...”

“Perhaps.”

“Ras. You're takin' his place.”

“I know, Brady... but... it still feels wrong.”

“Keep it in his memory,” said Morgaine.

Rasalas sighed, before flicking a hand at Arthur's body. His armour immediately vanished, leaving him clad in his red tunic.

“You return to sanctuary,” Morgaine guessed, to which Rasalas gave a nod.

“The others have to know what happened. I'm just gonna share a lengthy pensieve memory.”

“I must come with you.”

“But...”

“Others can see to Arthur,” Morgaine answered the unfinished question.

* * *

 

The port key deposited them in the sanctuary's foyer, but the common room was busy with people. Theresa was looking after Cai, though he looked a lot better than when he'd left the battlefield. Accolon was looking on, also completely healed, pretty much back to his normal self.

Bill, Kate, and Marcus were also present, as were Corey, Casey and Betty. No surprise they were present, considering both their sons had been involved in the battle. Both were relieved to see their children had returned unharmed.

“So it's over,” said Marcus.

“It's over, yeah,” said Rasalas. “I... I'm gonna just share a pensieve memory, rather than try and go over it. It still hurts.”

“And you knew how it would end,” said Casey, softly.

“Yeah, I know. I tried to resist getting too entangled. It just...”

“Rasalas. No one will ever blame you. Perhaps you were exactly what my brother needed. I can be certain he held no regrets, falling in love with you. You must know, you were one of the best things that could have happened to him—whether you choose to believe it or not.”

“I... I know.”

Rasalas flicked a hand toward the hallway and the bedrooms, and a few seconds later, his pensieve floated out toward him. He easily caught it, and set it on the coffee table. He then touched an index finger to his temple, and began to draw out a stream of memories... stretching longer and longer... until he gave a slight tug, detaching it. He then let it drop into the shimmering liquid.

“I won't join you, but... anyone who wants to have a look, you're quite welcome.”

While the others entered the pensieve, Rasalas took a seat in front of the fireplace. So, it was done. Arthur was gone, this time for good. Their time at Camelot, and at Avalon was also at an end, save for one last visit for the funeral.

On the bright side, Voldemort was gone, the last Horcrux being burnt out of Rasalas in a brilliant, blinding flash, and absolutely protecting him from the fate suffered by Arthur, a half-dozen knights, and a dozen Saxon enemies. The only body left behind was Arthur's, likely the doing of the Goddess, to allow for closure.

No matter, with Voldemort being gone, a number of things could get back to normal. Brady's family could return to Georgia, the protection detail could be released from the property... Brady could get back to his music career, and Rasalas could join him when he returned to touring—well, maybe not on stage or anything, but... travel to a bunch of new places... wasn't that what he'd been doing almost two years ago? Back before all the rubbish surrounding his attack?

There was also the election to consider short-term. The most recent poll had Madam Bones leading by more than twelve points, indicating witches and wizards in England wanted true change, not just honeyed words and the status quo. With Voldemort gone, perhaps Rasalas could lend his face and his voice to the movement, ensuring the people got what they truly needed, rather than a quick-fix that would end in disaster later.

Of course, becoming Crown Protector.... he would need to research exactly what that meant. Just how much power would he carry, considering England already had a monarch, a very well loved Queen who'd been on the throne for fifty-five years? No way he was about to usurp her title, power, and authority. That would likely ruffle more than a few feathers. No, research was most certainly in order with regard to any sort of crown authority. Quite honestly, he preferred to just let it be, only asserting it if absolutely necessary. He knew first hand what it felt like to be meddled with.

It was some time later before the others began to emerge from the pensieve. Morgaine wrapped Rasalas in a tight embrace.

“You have endured so much.”

“But I also learned so much. You and your aunt... I... we owe you both so much.”

“Rasalas, your only responsibility is to remain true to the Goddess.”

“When... when is the funeral?” Casey wanted to know.

“Tomorrow, at sunrise,” Morgaine answered, “All of you will be welcome to attend.”

“And it is there we will have to say good bye,” said Rasalas, “Your aunt is absolutely right in that remaining connected to Camelot and Avalon is no longer constructive.”

“I would remain here,” said Accolon, “I have grown attached to this world... and I do believe Arthur would rest in the afterlife knowing one or more of his knights stand at your side.”

“And that role is already filled by Brady,” said Kate, “Accolon, you do not belong in this world.”

“He knows the risks,” said Rasalas, “I think it's up to him. But you know that it's a one-way trip. Once I sever the connection to Camelot, and reset the pedestal in the planetarium, that's it.”

“I have made my decision. My place is with King's consort, as it has been since we met over a year ago,” said Accolon, “You now stand in Arthur's stead.”

“I... never thought of it that way,” Rasalas conceded.

“Likewise, I shall also stand at your side, Sir Rasalas,” said Cai, “You were Arthur's war-duke... now stand as his heir, named Crown Protector.”

“And the companionship so continues,” said Bill, “There's something that didn't happen in the story... the knights were disbanded after the battle.”

“As Arthur's name lives on through me, so too, do the knights,” said Rasalas. “Through Excalibur, through my words, Avalon, too, shall live on, and that... just maybe, will make all the difference in the world.”

“Spoken as only Arthur could,” said Accolon.

“There will still be an adjustment for both of you. 2007 is not 537... fourteen-hundred years is a massive cultural gap.”

“I believe we can adapt,” said Cai, “We have lived exclusively in your world for nearly four months, not discounting the experiences since last June.”

“All of that can be worked out later,” said Theresa, “Rasalas, I do still worry about long-term effects. Is there any place you need to be right now, or could we meet privately for an hour or two?”

“I...”

“Ras... go. We got this,” said Brady, putting a hand on Rasalas' shoulder. Rasalas reached up and gripped it gently, before stepping away.

“My room.”

* * *

 

_Same Day_   
_11:58 pm EDT / 4:58 am Avalon Time_

Given the event was taking place at sunrise, there had been no sense in sleeping. Rasalas and those who had taken part in the battle did get a few hours' rest, but everyone was up and about as it closed in on midnight, grabbing a quick bite to eat before Rasalas created a port key that would take them to Avalon for the last time.

Arriving on the lawn, they found the sky already fairly bright, with sunrise only a few minutes away. They quickly got to their feet, and were led to the twin funeral pyre that had been set up by the sisterhood. Both Arthur and Viviane had been wrapped in linens, save for their faces.

Rasalas approached the pyre, leaned in, and kissed Arthur's forehead.

“No matter what,” he whispered, “I will always love you.”

He then moved to the other pyre, and did the same with Viviane.

“Thank you. For everything.”

The others had already formed a circle around the twin pyres, while Morgaine came up beside Rasalas, bearing a pair of torches.

“Our time on earth is finite,” Morgaine began, “All of us are of the earth, so too will all of us return to the earth, and begin the cycle anew.

“The wheel once again turns, and though our loved ones depart, we will once again stand hand in hand as we too pass on.”

She passed one of the torches to Rasalas, and together, they lit both pyres, and stood back, joining the rest of the circle. The group remained silent as the fires took hold, and for long minutes, all that could be heard, was the roar of the fires.

Finally, as it got too hot to remain close to the fires, the circle dispersed, gathering on the upwind side, close to the water's edge.

“What will become of the sisterhood?” Casey inquired.

“The Goddess will see to our safety,” Morgaine answered, “But Avalon will close to us all. I already feel the connection fading.”

“I wish that were not the case,” said Rasalas, sadly, “The world needs Avalon.”

“It needs a champion, Rasalas: you. Avalon is everywhere and it is nowhere. It lives in each and every one of us. People need to be reminded of this.”

“Such as Viviane reminded me many times,” Rasalas agreed. “This though... I never thought... never expected... even though we had a rough idea...”

“The time line s-s-s-s-sped up a little,” said Ryan, “The b-b-battle should've been in August.”

“We did change some things,” Rasalas admitted, “I guess... part of me still hoped... small things would change larger things, right?”

He found himself rubbing his eyes again, and Brady put an arm around him.

“Ain't nothin' wrong with cryin', Ras. I adored him too.”

“We all loved him,” said Accolon, “As he loved all of us in return.”

Aaron sucked in a breath.

  
  


“ _Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight, sweet prince;_  
_And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest._ ”

  
  


Now, Rasalas finally lost it, the wave of grief at last crashing over him. He collapsed into Brady's arms, as deep sobs wracked his body. No matter what, Arthur was truly gone.

* * *

 

With the official funeral over, the gathering was about to head up to the stone circle. However, one of the men who looked after the boats hurried over.

“Messengers await at the landing with vital information.”

“For whom?” Morgaine questioned.

“Sir Rasalas, your grace.”

“They wait at the water's edge, or at the camp site?”

“The camp site.”

“Thank you. I'll project myself to the location.”

He turned back to the group. “Watch my body.”

He got comfortable, and began to concentrate, briefly reflecting on how far he'd come. Now, compared to then, doing a projection took only a matter of seconds, rather than several minutes.

He found himself in the clearing and the camp, where five individuals waited.

“Sir Rasalas,” said one of them.

“You have critical information?”

“What of Excalibur?”

Now, Rasalas knew what the messengers were asking about, as he remembered the original missive he'd found nearly two years prior—the missive describing the Adaptable Chambers and the control orb. Perhaps one of these men had written it—or knew who did... or would...

He mentally shook his head. He had to be careful with this interaction, as getting it wrong could have disastrous consequences.

“I cannot be absolutely certain, but I believe it has been returned to Avalon,” he answered. It was a half-truth, but the messengers wouldn't know that.

“Three artefacts that must be hidden. Two devices called Adaptable Chambers, and the key stone, used to access more advanced abilities of the stronger device.”

“They must not be stowed together. Scatter them to the corners of the country amongst powerful magical families; they will know of means to keep them from our enemies.

“The key stone, meanwhile, I would bury it deep in the ground. Perhaps another magically gifted family will assist in securing it.”

“We will see it done, Sir Rasalas. Goddess keep you.”

“And may the Goddess forever keep all of you.”

He focused on returning to Avalon, and moments later, was being helped sit up.

“What'd they want?” Brady wanted to know.

“The Adaptable chambers and the key stone—the orb that unlocks the planetarium. They wanted to know what to do with them. I provided suggestions that should keep the time line intact.”

“Well come on. Everyone's heading up to the stone circle,” said Aaron.

Minutes later, the large gathering stood within the stone circle, where so much of Rasalas' training had taken place. One of the sisterhood stepped forward, holding a packet which contained a small cutting.

“I was visited in my dreams,” she said, “The Goddess wanted you to have this. She wishes for you to plant this at your home, in order that Avalon follow you, and perhaps once again take root.”

Rasalas reached out a hand, and accepted the small clipping.

“It will be my honour.”

Morgaine, meanwhile, realized exactly where the clipping had come from: the  _Tree of Avalon_ . The very tree which had been all but dead, had somehow sprouted a single tiny branch.

“It represents all that Avalon is, Rasalas. Make it thrive. For us. For Arthur. For the world.”

“It does get pretty cold in southern Ontario,” said Aaron, with doubt.

“It will do fine,” said Rasalas, “Though I think it'll need to be started in a container first. And I do have a friend who is exceptional when it comes to plants.”

He blew out a breath, a lump again forming in his throat.

“I... I guess it's time. Morgaine... sisters. It's... It's been a true honour to stand here in Avalon... an honour to receive training and knowledge here, knowledge that without, I would not have succeeded in the task I was given.

“Thank you all. The time spent here, I will cherish always.”

“Guess I should be sayin' the same,” said Brady, “Never would've thought, me learnin' magic 'an spells... standin' with Arthur an' fightin' for England. I won' forget my time here.”

“And same with me,” Aaron spoke up, “I've learned so much here, and I'll never forget it.”

“You never stop learning, Aaron,” said Morgaine, “Just because you no longer have access to the magical isle, you can still tap into the magic around you. My last piece of advice to all of you, is to continue to practice. Doing so only strengthens your abilities. Now all of you, it's time to go.”

“Thank you for having us, your grace,” said Casey, with a bow of the head. Rasalas was already fashioning another port key.

“It is families like yours who keep the Goddess alive, Madam Sawyer,” Morgaine answered.

“All right, everyone. Gather around. Good bye, Morgaine. I will remember you always.”

“As I will remember all of you,” Morgaine answered.

With everyone touching the port key, Rasalas activated it, and with a blur of limbs, they vanished from Avalon for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: The school year at last concludes; and a meeting with the bank gives Rasalas the first indication of just what Crown Protector could mean..._
> 
>  
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: And so now, the guys are truly finished with Camelot and Avalon. Still a bit more to go, though... an election, and a few other loose ends that need to be tied up._
> 
>  
> 
> _When coming up with the quote for this chapter, I had several options, but settled on the quote from Hamlet, as it was just so appropriate. Everyone's had to study works by Shakespeare at one point during their high school education—for me it was Grade 10 English, covering Macbeth._
> 
>  
> 
> _As my readers may have noticed, this story is now the first part of a series, meaning that I will be continuing it with a new story. I'm beginning to rough in the details now. Of course, there may be brief one-shots as well... but lumped in with the series, something I like about posting to AO3._


	58. Once and Future King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The school year at last concludes; and a meeting with the bank gives Rasalas the first indication of just what Crown Protector could mean..._

**Act IV, Episode 2  
ONCE AND FUTURE KING  
June/July, 2007**

> _“Why can't you harness Might so that it works for Right? I know it sounds nonsense, but, I mean, you can't just say there is no such thing. The Might is there, in the bad half of people, and you can't neglect it. You can't cut it out but you might be able to direct it, if you see what I mean, so that it was useful instead of bad.”_

_\- T. H. White, “The Queen of Air and Darkness”, 1939_

* * *

Arriving back in the sanctuary, Rasalas realized it was still the early hours of the morning. Given the time difference, it was not even 3 am local time. However, going back to sleep was out of the question, with him being so emotionally-charged.

The others were already heading in different directions, some back to the rooms, while Aaron, Ryan, and Casey headed back into their residence via the door to Ryan's room.

“Ras? Y'okay?”

“I...” Rasalas let out a sigh. “It's done. Over. Both for better, and for worse, I guess.”

“C'mon. Le's go for a drive,” Brady suggested.

Rasalas only gave a silent nod, as the pair stepped through the door leading into the house. And, less than a minute later, they were speeding off up the road, once again borrowing Ryan's truck.

Getting out of the house, away from sanctuary was a good idea, he mentally agreed. The past twenty-four hours had been the stuff of nightmares, seeing so many friends cut down in combat—never mind losing Arthur—though he'd known that was coming. How long would it take to heal? Sure, the man in the driver's seat loved him too, but... Arthur was different. Felt different. Arthur had been willing, having dove headfirst into their relationship, almost from the beginning.

Brady, meanwhile, was conflicted. His entire sexuality was conflicted, damaged, even, if Rasalas really thought about it. Sure, the man would likely follow Rasalas into the gates of hell if asked, but still... deep within the man's personality there was resistance. Something that didn't just go away because Rasalas wished it to.

They returned to the house just after sunrise, and there found an extra pair of Aurors waiting.

“Sir Peverell,” said one of them, as Rasalas got out of the truck, Brady quickly following.

The pair of Aurors providing protection detail materialized a short distance away, and dismounted their brooms.

“What can we do for you?” Rasalas asked, politely.

“Delivering official citation from the ministry, sir,” said the second, reaching into his robes, and producing a sealed envelope. “Mr. Young felt it more polite if we deliver it in person.”

“Thank you,” said Rasalas, accepting the notice.

A cursory inspection found it contained no harmful magic, so he opened it and quickly read it. He gave a quick nod, and folded it back up.

“You continue to make waves, Sir Peverell,” said the second visiting Auror, “Highest fine ever levied in Canadian wizarding history.”

“Well? How much was it?” Brady wanted to know.

“A hundred thousand galleons. I expected it was gonna be high. I'll have Gringotts transfer the funds.”

“The ministry's still correlating reports on the disturbance, the latest coming from the Haitian ministry.”

“It's likely every magical community in the world felt it,” said Rasalas, “We triggered an artefact that taps into the earth's natural magical field. It's still very much a secret, but I plan on bringing both your director and the minister for magic in for a tour once we get everything working properly.

“If it works as I hope it will, it'll make the DMLE's job much easier.”

“This rate, you'll have everyone in the department kissing your ass,” said the first Auror, “Anything making our job easier, we'll take it.”

It was then there came a pop nearby, revealing Auror Jackson, and a few others.

“'morning, sir,” greeted the second visiting Auror.

“I was hoping to deliver the notice myself.”

“Sorry, we were asked to deliver the notice as soon as possible.”

“No matter.” Auror Jackson looked to the pair of Aurors with their brooms slung over their shoulders. “Going out, or just returned?”

“Just returned,” one of them answered.

“We went for a drive,” Brady explained.

“And it was a good idea, gave me a chance to clear my head,” Rasalas added. “Uh. We're going back inside.”

“I'll need to have a word with you later,” said Auror Jackson, “Once we finish our shift change.”

“Breakfast should be out soon, but we'll be in the sanctuary.”

Rasalas was right. Stepping into the sanctuary, they could hear voices from the dining room. He sucked in a breath, once again being faced with another typical activity without Arthur. “Suck it up,” he mentally berated himself, and took a seat at the table.

He ate silently, thinking over a number of issues that would be taking centre stage. The election in England was perhaps the largest, but a close second had to be the title of “Crown Protector”. What did it mean, exactly? How far did it reach? “So much for being normal,” he snorted in his head.

It was shortly after Rasalas finished breakfast that Auror Jackson stepped into the room.

“Sir Peverell...”

“It's still just Rasalas to you. We've been pretty much on a first-name basis,” said Rasalas.

“Okay then, I guess. But protocol says I have to use proper title in public.”

Rasalas let out a sigh, mentally emphasizing his previous thoughts.

Jackson gave a nod, continuing, “The original ministry protection order was in place as long as Tom Riddle presented a threat to you and the property here. Now that Riddle is gone, the original protection order is now ended.”

“Meanin' my mom 'an Corey can go back home,” said Brady.

“In theory, yes,” Jackson said, “However, with the new revelation and action by his majesty, it presents a very different set of circumstances. The ministry's department of magical cooperation and the minister's office are still unsure of how to handle this, quite honestly.”

“Can I just be normal?” Rasalas asked, frustrated. “I just want to relax, not worry about other peoples' problems for a change, not have the world sitting on my shoulders.”

“The ministry is still looking into it,” Jackson answered, “But thing is, we're dealing with ancient magic, and quite likely the will of the Goddess.”

“Perhaps we should simply ask, what is the immediate plan from the ministry?” Accolon questioned.

“The protection protocol continues. I will speak to my department, and see if Mrs. Gibson and her sons may return home... though it's very likely that protection protocol will be extended there, given their association with Sir Peverell.

“Quite honest, being titled has vast implications in their own right, never mind the king's proclamation before the battle.”

“It's something I really didn't want, y'know,” Rasalas admitted, “But... it's not something I'm going to outright ignore or deny. Arthur gave me the title and responsibility for a reason. Only hope I don't have to go save the world again, I've already done it once.”

“We'll still try to keep our presence discreet,” Jackson promised, “But you should know that it's very likely the detail will be expanded, depending on ministry findings.”

It was then that Dobby popped in.

“Sir Razzy, Director Young is wanting to see you.”

“Where's he waiting for us?”

“In the sitting room, sir.”

“Great.”

Rasalas downed his coffee, and stood up.

“While I'm thinking of it...”

He flicked his hand at the floor, producing his Patronus. “Madam Bones. Please travel by floo to my residence. I have important information,” then, “To Madam Bones, important.”

The ghostly stag bounded out of the room.

“Dobby, please wait for Amelia, and bring her through the house and into the sitting room.”

“Dobby will be waiting, sir.”

“The director will likely want to speak to you alone,” said Jackson.

“But what I have to say is important to both him and Madam Bones, considering she used to be his counterpart.”

A few minutes later, both Amelia Bones and Terry Young were sitting comfortably in Rasalas' sitting room.

“I was hoping to have a word with you privately,” said Mr. Young.

“I need to clear the air on something first. Voldemort—Tom Riddle—is gone. For good. It happened nearly two days ago... and though I won't explain exactly what happened, a number of sources have confirmed it.”

“And he's not just existing in shade form,” Bones questioned.

“He was. Thing is... and this must be kept confidential... he was using Horcruxes... soul containers. Worst bit, I was one of them. During a massive battle that I really don't want to get into, I was nearly—”

“You was dead, Ras,” said Brady, “'ya had no pulse.”

“Quoting, 'The vessel must be destroyed beyond magical repair',” said Rasalas.

“How many others did he have?” Young questioned.

“Seven, including me. It's how he survived when he first tried to kill me... and it's how he survived back in the spring. The rest of his toys were all destroyed back in the winter, with me being left until... two days ago.”

“Did you face him again?” Bones wanted to know.

Rasalas shook his head. “All I know... last thing I remember before—well, I won't get into what I saw after, but—there was a terrible cry, and it wasn't me, and it wasn't—it wasn't Arthur. But it came from me, and I saw that kind of thing before, with the destruction of another of his Horcruxes. This terrible shriek.”

“When I killed the snake,” Brady remembered, “'an the one in the Room of Requirement.”

“Yeah, both did that... though I don't remember the snake.”

Brady scowled. “Lucky you.”

“Sir Rasalas. Magical England finds itself in your debt.”

“As does Canada's wizarding world,” Mr. Young agreed, “You received your notice of fine this morning?”

“I did.”

“I'll have it rescinded based on your statement. I'll need to share a pensieve memory of this with the minister, but otherwise, I think we can call it even.”

“It was my destiny,” said Rasalas, with a shrug, “Now if I could have a normal day for a change...”

“No matter your feelings, Sir Rasalas, this is welcome news that will let many witches and wizards sleep well at night,” said Bones.

“And now considering all this rubbish is over with, I can lend my voice to your campaign.”

“Though not absolutely necessary, it will be welcome.”

“I've seen your primary opponent... see if I got it right, Barnabas Delecon. His 'traditional magical values' rhetoric is verbal vomit at best. I'll help you wipe the floor with him.”

“Since I still have a fair bit of pull with the DMLE, I asked them to dig into Mr. Delecon's history. He was a member of the Wizengamot, and the majority of his votes have gone along pureblood policy and opinion.”

“He wants to maintain the status quo,” said Mr. Young.

“'an what are people thinkin'?” Brady asked.

“He's trailing by a fair margin,” Bones answered.

“I'll help with a few appearances and offer a few spots on the wizarding wireless.”

* * *

_June 14_

Even with Brady beside him, Rasalas still slept poorly, waking up nearly every hour. That left him grumpy and irritable, as he had his breakfast, and forced him to take both a calming draught, and a pepper-up potion to settle down. Perhaps the two potions might be counteracting, but there had to be some benefit from them. He did feel slightly better, and that was the whole point of the exercise.

Breakfast over with, Rasalas finally stepped into the planetarium, to reset the map. It was the final step in disconnecting from Arthur's time period. If anything, he'd been agonizing over doing so, making it official and final. He finally forced himself to pull the control key out of the pedestal, causing the map to dim, and the numerous dials around the pedestal to go dark. Re-inserting it caused everything to illuminate again, with the dials all resetting to present-day. The map, too, had re-centered over the house.

“Ras?” Brady stood in the doorway. “Garokat 'an the head goblin's here wantin' to see 'ya.”

“Huh... right.”

Rasalas hurried back out to the common room to find the pair of goblins waiting.

“Crown Protector,” the head goblin greeted, “We have some important information that you must be made aware of.”

“I would guess so,” said Rasalas, “Uh... into the dining room,” he decided, glancing up at the clock. The dining room would be cleared at this point.

As soon as they sat down, Garokat produced a large stack of parchment, and Rasalas mentally groaned. Great, more paperwork.

“How's it y'all know 'bout Ras' new title?” Brady asked.

“You are aware that all but a few of our records are self-updating, Sir Brady,” said the head goblin. “Situations where estates change hands, or a change in an individual's status, they do trigger internal actions and notifications.”

“King Arthur naming you his heir most certainly qualifies as one of those triggers,” said Garokat, “The Pendragon vault has very little in the way of coin, but all of its contents are now yours.”

“We would advise you to keep the vault's contents separate, since any children you might have could resurrect the line if you so choose.”

“Much like I have done with the Black vaults and holdings,” said Rasalas, “It's perfectly acceptable.”

“You becoming Arthur's heir, meanwhile, has much larger bearing on the wizarding world as a whole,” said the head goblin, “Though there will be many who will reject the authority you now carry, you now stand equal to the non-magical English Queen.”

Rasalas let out a snort. “Yeah. I'm sure the English ministry will appreciate that.”

“They will have no choice,” said Garokat, “The ancient magic will force their cooperation.”

Rasalas blew out a breath. “Great. Instead of a quiet life post-Voldemort, post-destiny, I get saddled with more titles and responsibilies.”

“Are you outright rejecting Arthur's wishes?”

“No. Just... I don't really know. This... after all this rubbish I've had to go through over the past two years... I just need a break, a breather. I'd like to relax a bit, have some time to recover. I lost someone I loved and adored, defeated Tom Riddle once and for all... I think the world owes me at least a little to myself, if you understand my meaning.”

“And no one will ever fault you for that,” said the head goblin, “Just know that you have the full support of Gringotts.”

“You guys have been awesome with your support from day one. Hermione says the London branch has been difficult.”

Garokat frowned. “England's wizards need to improve their relationship with non-human intelligent races.”

“It's something I'll be pushing for when the new Wizengamot convenes. There's a lot of rubbish that needs to be cleared out... bad laws that have kept England's magical society in the dark ages. Relations with goblins, centaurs, house elves, vampires... things have to change.”

“'an thing I don't get... witches 'an wizards bein' rude to the people lookin' after their money. Somethin' in there about not bitin' the hand that feeds 'em.”

“This is very true, Sir Brady,” Garokat agreed, “Respect given is respect earned.”

“Could I ask a favour?”

“That is?”

“That this be kept quiet for now. I'm still dealing with the fallout from a number of things... the death of Arthur being the top of the list. I just need a bit of time to come to terms with... this. But I will honour Arthur's wishes... he wanted me to carry on his work... it's just figuring out how to do that and not make myself a pariah in the process.

“Just going off and throwing my weight around won't get anyone anywhere, and considering the political makeup of the wizarding world as a whole... again, all I'd end up doing is pissing a bunch of people off.”

“Need to sit down with Kate,” said Brady, “'an get her opinion on this shit.”

“And that will happen. Likely a larger meeting involving Gringotts, the Canadian minister, Kate, and the new English minister.”

“Appears it will be Madam Bones,” said Garokat, “If the latest polling numbers are any indication.”

“I've endorsed her campaign. Given she's my proxy—or was, she's exactly the person magical England needs to bring about real change.”

* * *

_June 17_

If Rasalas had any hope of his new title being kept quiet, it was smashed to oblivion with that morning's Daily Prophet. Two pictures were lined up side by side beneath the large block lettered headline: one had been taken the last time Rasalas had been at the English ministry. The other had been taken during the Triwizard tournament, during the weighing-of-the-wands ceremony. They stood in stark contrast to one another.

  
  


_PEVERELL NAMED CROWN PROTECTOR_  
_Legendary King Arthur acting from the grave_

_Sir Rasalas Peverell has been named the first magical Crown Protector in recorded history, granting the former boy-who-lived yet another formal title, one with far-reaching consequences._

_According to sources within Gringotts, the information only came to light Thursday morning, after activity on a dormant account was noted, triggering internal investigations by the bank. Our sources were at first reluctant to reveal the owner of the account, but when further pressed, they revealed the account belonged to Arthur Pendragon, the legendary king of pre-Anglo-Saxon England._

_The account contained very little in the way of money, but did contain a number of artefacts and more importantly, documentation, which brings us to present-day and more importantly, the new title Crown Protector Peverell now carries._

_Inquiries to the ministry yielded little information on exactly what impact such a title would have, and inquiries to the I.C.W. resulted in identical responses, leading to inquiries outside the magical world. That, in turn, revealed a slightly different title, Lord Protector, and its set of implications, namely that the individual acting in such a capacity carries all of the powers of the crown. The title and position is invoked when the monarch is unable to assume the throne—either being too young, or being incapable for one reason or another._

_Further research has brought to light several examples of a Lord Protector in England's history, notably in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. Most notably, in 1653, a man named Oliver Cromwell held the title, and brought about seven years of anarchy and instability in the Muggle world._

_It is the example of Cromwell and the Protectorate he formed that presents the largest worry: that Peverell could seize control of the ministry, and begin arbitrary, absolute rule. Perhaps even threaten (see NEIGHBOURING, page 2)_

_Oliver Cromwell and the English Commonwealth, page 8_  
_Peverell, daft or dangerous, page 4_  
_Bones and Delecon weigh in, page 3_

  
  


Rasalas threw the paper down on the table in frustration. So much for keeping things quiet. Worse, they painted him out to be a potential tyrant, drunk and reckless with power. Equally infuriating, someone at Gringotts was spilling client secrets to the Daily Prophet. Perhaps he might spend a few coins, and encourage an internal investigation.

“Ras...” Brady questioned, simply.

“They'll be issuing a retraction, and the bloody bank has some rats that need exterminating,” Rasalas muttered.

“We's missin' the defence club meetin'.”

“Right.”

With it being so close to the end of the school year, that Sunday's meeting of the defence club was the last. Rasalas was disappointed he'd only been able to attend a few of them, given all the chaos of the past few months. Given they had arrived late, there had been no chance to address the group—they were already practicing. No matter, both he and Brady circled about the group, with Rasalas giving tips and hints on how to improve their casting.

Rasalas was more than impressed with the progress a number of students had made, particularly with their Patronus charms. The meeting had been a virtual zoo of ghostly creatures at one point.

Finally, as it got close to the end of the session, Rasalas asked everyone to gather around so they could wrap up. No surprise, there came a bunch of questions about the Daily Prophet.

“I'm not getting into the reports in the paper, since I still don't know the full ramifications of it.”

“But it's true, what they're saying,” said a fourth year Ravenclaw.

“Yes. I've been named Crown Protector. But really, like I said, I have no clue exactly what it all means. And quite honestly, it's something I'd rather not have. But what I want and what I get are quite often two very different things. It's an extra responsibility and extra baggage, extra complication that has quite literally dashed any hope of me ever being normal.”

“Being normal's never been your thing, Harry,” said Ron, with a shrug.

“Doesn't mean I can't want it. It's all I've ever wanted, to have a normal life, have a normal school life, have normal friends, normal adventures.

“Instead, I've been saddled with a destiny, marked from when I was an infant. This isn't a pity party as it's not productive. But remember that, all of you. My life has been no picnic, and as a certain former potions teacher once said, 'Fame isn't everything'. It was said with malice, intended as a mockery, but the words are very true, no matter the tone or intent when said.”

“Our first class with Snape.”

“It's _Professor_ Snape, Ron. No matter our differences, I have a well of respect for the man. Some of you might be looking at me like I've grown a second head, but it's about perspective... I have a different perspective on the man, a different angle, and that makes all the difference in the world.”

“And whether we liked him or not, he was a Hogwarts professor,” Hermione added.

“Yes, that. Professor Snape is very gifted, a potions master—a title that's become rather rare here in magical Britain, and likewise, well-versed in Defence Against the Dark Arts. All of you learned a lot from his classes this year, did you not?”

There were many nods around the room, most of them begrudging, but it was difficult not to admit, Snape most certainly knew the material, his classroom manner aside.

“Now. My apologies for not getting here sooner. I had matters demanding my attention, and this annoying article in the Prophet, so I wasn't here at the beginning.

“I want to share a memory with everyone here, something that happened during a battle we were involved in recently. Let me first ask this: who here has heard of a magic nullifier?”

A number of students looked puzzled, while a few raised their hands. Those that did looked... afraid, perhaps? Many others looked uncomfortable.

“I can tell a number of you are uncomfortable with the suggestion. Uh. You, in the back.” Rasalas pointed to a fifth year Slytherin who'd raised her hand. “Tell us about a magic nullifier.”

“It suppresses all of the magic in an area,” the young witch answered, “Both the severity and the range of the nullifier can vary, but the effect is instant, suppressing the magic in the area of effect. Over time the effect begins to drain the very life force from surrounding flora, and eventually, fauna, leaving the area completely drained of anything alive. It's considered one of the black arts, due to the severity of its effects.”

“Twenty points to Slytherin, for that precise explanation.”

“You... you've encountered one,” asked the Slytherin.

“Yes. I have. And I'm gonna draw a memory, so all of you can see its effects.”

While Rasalas drew out the memory of the event, Brady projected a request to the room for a pensieve appropriate for showing the memory to a larger group of people.

“The memory is a series of events, rather than one long stream, since there are things I'm not willing to share here. Some things that happened here were terrible, things that none of you should have to see,” said Rasalas, before dropping the gassy strand into the shimmering liquid.

The first part of the memory covered Rasalas' first noticing the spell take effect.

“What did it feel like?” one of the fourth year students asked, as Rasalas paused the memory.

“Like cold water bein' dumped on us,” Brady answered.

“Sounds something like a disillusionment charm,” said a sixth year Hufflepuff.

“Exactly like, but everyone magical would have felt it,” said Rasalas. He continued playback, moving on to the encounter with the dying trees, where he again paused it.

“Bloody hell... even the trees are dying from it,” said Ron.

“Had it been left in place, that's exactly what would have happened. It would have left the entire area of effect a barren wasteland.”

“Would... would it grow back?” questioned Seamus.

“Yes, once the nullifier is removed. How long will depend on how long the nullifier was in place. From a totally dead wasteland, it would be years. This example, we were lucky, in that it was only in place for an hour or so.”

The memory continued, this time moving on to the device itself. Everyone quickly noticed how much of it was clouded.

“The memory is partially hidden,” another fifth year Slytherin noted.

“There are people in the scene I can't let you see. Though you guys already know about Arthur. The point here though, is the nullifier.”

“They were rather obvious, a smarter group of wizards would have hidden it better,” said yet another Slytherin.

“In battle, sometimes there isn't time. And perhaps in that, we were lucky. They did surround it with plenty of guards. It was costly to our side to cut through them to get to the device itself, and...”

Rasalas let the memory play again, showing him and Arthur destroying the orb. It was there the memory abruptly cut off.

“What happened?”

“More that I cannot show you. Stuff that absolutely must stay secret. Even what I'm showing here, I'm taking a risk.”

“You were at Camlann,” said the Slytherin who'd answered the question earlier.

“Yes. This was the battle of Camlann.”

Rasalas partially un-sheathed Excalibur a moment. “How I was there, or why, it has to be kept secret. None of you are authorized to discuss this with anyone. It's for my protection.”

“So that's how you're Crown Protector,” said Neville, as he put the pieces together, “Arthur used prerogative powers.”

“Exactly. Though in so many ways I wish he hadn't. But I both loved and adored him... and if that's what he wanted, it's not my place to reject his wishes. I think to do so, would spit on his memory.”

“But how was it you were able to dissolve the Wizengamot?” asked another.

“It has nothing to do with Arthur,” Rasalas answered, “That's my blood heritage.”

“Lots of people won't like it, you carrying that much power,” said Neville, “Careful, Harry.”

“Yeah. I know all too well. Remember, it's one of the reasons I left England in the first place. This latest article in the Prophet only underlines the problem people have with me. Though I'm sure my solicitor will have fun making them print a retraction and an apology.

“Speaking of which, it's nearly time for dinner, and I do need to get back so I can make a fire call.”

“Will you be coming back to Hogwarts... next year, I mean?” questioned a fourth year Hufflepuff.

“You'll definitely see me around. I'll likely continue to sit in on these meetings, if you guys will have me. But me returning as a student? That won't ever happen. I've far outgrown being a student here.”

“Then as a teacher,” came the suggestion.

Rasalas only laughed. “I'm too young for that. But maybe some day I might. At least that'll be something normal for a change.”

That earned boisterous laughter from the gathering.

“Aw come on, Ras, normal's boring,” Brady quipped. That sent the room into gales of laughter.

* * *

That evening, Rasalas and his circle again gathered on his back deck. Casey had insisted they have a barbecue and get outside, perhaps lift the oppressive cloud which had hung over everyone since the battle.

The suggestion made at the DA meeting did have Rasalas thinking. Actually teaching at Hogwarts? If he had to admit, he did enjoy the number of lessons he'd looked after following Professor Snape's resignation. And the DA itself had been fun—at least the few he'd attended. Perhaps teaching might be a worthy thing to pursue. He mentally sighed. Maybe in the future. For the time being, he really wanted a break from the magical world as a whole. To vacation someplace, relax, recharge.

Of course, he was still somewhat under obligation, at least as far as the election was concerned. Once that was concluded and a new government established—hopefully for the better this time—then he could start making further summer plans... perhaps plans for the fall as well.

“Sir Rasalas.”

Rasalas opened his eyes to find Kreacher standing beside his deck chair, holding a medium-sized package. “His majesty asked me to deliver this to you after a few days had passed.”

“Oh.”

Rasalas accepted the package. It was just a little heavy, and so he set it on the ground, before opening the flaps—only to feel a lump rising in his throat, seeing what was inside: a painting of Arthur(1). It featured him sitting in his throne-like chair, beside the massive fireplace that had been in Camelot's great hall.

Exposed to the dying light of the evening, Arthur opened his eyes, and smiled.

“My love,” he said, softly, and then, “Thank you, Kreacher.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Kreacher answered, with a low bow. He vanished with a soft pop.

“I... how... when...”

“Rasalas, be still,” said Arthur, “I knew of my fate, and equally knew of the painful reality you would be left with. I spoke with Mr. Weasley, who was happy to help out with a solution.”

“But... when did you have time? I mean, the last few months have been nothing but chaos.”

“You guys weren't together twenty-four-seven,” said Aaron.

“This is true.” Rasalas found himself having to wipe his eyes, but he smiled. “I... I get part of you back. You have no idea how much this means.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea,” said Arthur. “This can never ever make things as they were, but...”

“No, and I know that. But... just to be able to talk to you at all... to see your face... that makes all the difference in the world. Thank you, Arthur.”

“No, thank you, Rasalas. You changed my world, gave me time I am forever grateful for. Now my single order to you is this: that you pick yourself up, live your life to the fullest. And Sir Brady. Remember what I said to you sometime ago. You must look after Rasalas for me, since it would be rather unbecoming, him carrying a portrait with him.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Brady agreed.

“Considering people already call me mental as it is,” Rasalas snorted. He filed away Arthur's comment for later. What sort of thing did he and Brady talk about... and when?

Arthur's portrait seemed to lift the dark mood hanging over the group. Arthur was more than pleased to find out that both Accolon and Cai were still at Rasalas' side, and with that, carry on the companionship.

“Sir Rasalas, the leadership of the knights falls to you, as I leave them in your hands. Your additional title does grant you the powers to add to your numbers, and I do believe your world could use perhaps a touch of chivalry.”

“And you are entirely correct, sire,” said Casey, “Perhaps with that, we would see more respect and kindness.”

“Do remember, such appointments must be made carefully, and upon merit, rather than favour,” said Arthur.

“This is very true,” Rasalas agreed, “Doing for favour only negates the worth of the title. It's been odd, I have to admit... some of the reaction and treatment I receive.”

“It's been many, many years, since a witch or wizard carried the knighthood,” said Bill, “So yes, it carries a tremendous amount of weight. Considering it was Arthur who granted you title, it's further backed by magic.”

“Which makes it easier for you to continue to change the world,” said Arthur, “You are an agent of Avalon, the Goddess' champion. My world needed your help, but so does yours. Make it count.”

* * *

_June 30_

The school year at last drew to a close, and with it, came the leaving feast. Professor McGonagall invited Rasalas, Brady, Accolon, and Cai to join them as guests, and the head table had to be expanded to accommodate them.

The room hushed, as Dumbledore stood and took to the Lectern.

“Another year, gone. For many of you, it means a rest over summer, a reprieve from the routine of classes and for some, dreaded homework. For a few, it means departing Hogwarts for good, the closing of another chapter of your young lives, the beginning of a new one. A new chapter filled with new experiences, as you transition into adulthood.

“This year, I join you in starting a new chapter of my life, a life long-lived, but a life by no means concluded. We may grow older, but we never stop learning. If there is one message I must impart with all of you as I leave this hallowed post, it is that: never stop learning. Ask the questions. Be informed about the world around you so you are able to make equally informed decisions, rather than permitting ignorance to permeate.

“An intelligent, informed society is what is required as our world continues to change. Those with mindsets contrary to the changes taking hold will find their choices limited, and I implore all of you, to weigh your choices very carefully, as it has been demonstrated in recent times, that contrary behaviour... unintelligent behaviour, is no longer acceptable.

“That said. It has been a true privilege and an honour to stand here as headmaster. I have taken great delight in seeing each ane very one of you succeed, your years here being the foundation of the lives you will live outside of these walls.”

Dumbledore stepped back from the podium, and for a moment, there was silence. Then Rasalas began to clap, and that cued others to join in, until the entire hall rose in a standing ovation. Perhaps the man had done a number of questionable things, but in a number of ways, he was still a great wizard that did demand a level of respect.

Rasalas then took to the podium, and the hall quieted down.

“Thank you, Professor. From a former student, you will be missed, even though we haven't exactly seen eye-to-eye in the past while. I believe Hogwarts will be a strange place without your presence.

“Now, I have to underline some of what Professor Dumbledore has said. Our world is changing, whether people like it or not. Gone are the times when dark-aligned witches and wizards can operate without impunity. Gone are the times when members of the Wizengamot can be intimidated, or the minister bought off with coin.

“In its place, we will have a society that is open and free of the rot which has brought England's wizarding society to stagnation. In its place, will be a society which is based on ability, rather than heritage; where blood will have no impact on an individual's worth. Such discrimination is ILLEGAL and will not be tolerated by the new government.

“I want a place where a dear friend of mine and first-generation magical will have as much of a chance in this world as another dear friend of mine, who happens to be of pure blood. You know... quite honestly, I don't like the phrase 'pureblood' as a whole. I think the whole blood dogma should be outlawed, period. We are all human. Our blood is the same colour at the end of the day. 

“What does define us? Our ability.

“Each one of us is given a powerful gift that does make us unique, and it has nothing to do with our blood. Each of you sitting here carry one of these—”

Rasalas reached into his pouch, producing his wand.

“This is what unites us. This single shaft of wood, purchased just before we first stepped through the doors of this school. This single shaft of wood, makes us all brothers and sisters. Never, ever, forget that.

“Likewise, this shaft of wood stands as protection against those who do wish us harm. Stand up to them, question their motives, their reason. Too long, too few have held our world hostage. It is time they be called to account, to own up to their crimes, to ultimately pay a debt they have incurred.

“All of us, meanwhile, shoulder a portion of the blame, for being complacent, allowing those who follow the dark to worm their way into all facets of our society, then attacking like a cancer, destroying our society from the inside out.

“No more. We have a chance to make our world great again. Let's not let that opportunity slip away.”

Now, nearly everyone got to their feet as the applause was deafening; even the teachers rose to join in, Dumbledore among them. Rasalas stowed his wand, and waited for a minute, before raising his hands, and gesturing for silence.

“One final piece of business. Should a new headmaster or headmistress not be named by the start of the school year in September, Professor McGonagall shall fill that role in the interim. Thank you all, and may the Goddess touch each and every one of you.”

He took his seat, as more applause filled the hall.

“Careful, Ras... they'll be wantin' you to run for minister,” said Brady, as the food appeared at the table's centre.

“An offer I would rather quickly decline. I'm still young and stupid; they need someone who's old and wise.”

“Given the words you have spoken, you sell yourself short, Sir Rasalas,” said Dumbledore, who was seated to his left. “You are a powerful figurehead here, whether you like it or not. It's not a question of if, but a question of when.”

“Not now, sir. Perhaps I have some experience now, but speaking for an entire nation, that's not me. I think there are other roles I have to play yet.”

“But I don't see you straying far from Hogwarts.”

“No. You'd be right there,” Rasalas agreed, “This place is more home than the Dursleys ever were. And though I've set down roots in Ontario, I will always be more at ease here at Hogwarts.”

“And you should really consider taking up teaching,” said McGonagall, “More than a few students loved having you as a substitute professor.”

“I would be lying if I said I hated it, professor. It's something I'm considering, just not in the near future.”

“I'm sure you have plenty to consider at the moment. Your... training has concluded?”

“It has. So yeah, there's a lot of time on my hands, the English election being my only major, uh, obligation at the moment. As to what happens after, we'll have to see. But count on seeing us in the castle on occasion. Lady Hogwarts seems to like having me around.”

“I envy that sort of connection, Sir Rasalas,” said Dumbledore, “There are so many mistakes I have committed, all of them leading to this day.”

“At least you now admit to it. That does speak volumes, sir. And honestly, I never wanted to see you removed as headmaster. Thing is, stuff happened that took that decision out of my hands.”

“No, the mistakes are mine, mistakes I must live with. As I am sure there are mistakes you have made, and mistakes that you will make, that you will reflect on later in life.”

“Age and wisdom go hand in hand, sir,” Rasalas agreed.

Rasalas and his fellow knights remained at the table until people began to leave, signaling the official end of the meal. With that, the four of them rose, and their empty plates vanished.

“Professors. Thank you for the invitation. We will be in and about throughout the summer.”

“It would be an honour if you will join us for the opening feast come the beginning of September,” said McGonagall.

“And I accept your invitation, barring anything critical that comes up that might conflict with it. Knowing the way I get curve balls thrown in my direction, we may have to play it by ear.”

That earned chuckles from a number of the teachers.

“Now. If you'll pardon our departure. I have to have a word with Mr. Weasley and his sister.”

“They are spending the summer at your house, as I understand it,” said McGonagall.

“Yes. Bill's there, as are Mr. Sawyer's mother, and—”

“My mom's there too,” said Brady, “Lots of chaperones, if that's what you're worryin' about.”

“Never mind the ongoing Auror presence.”

“Oh, I'm not questioning their safety. The ministry will most certainly want to be kept aware, that is all.”

“Bill did send off the proper paper work with both the Canadian and English ministry.”

With that, the four of them stepped away from the head table, and headed to where Rasalas' school friends were gathered at the Gryffindor table.

“Harry. Wicked speech, mate,” Ron grinned, “Careful, people might ask you to run for minister or something, I reckon.”

“Too late, it's already been suggested.” Rasalas elbowed Brady by way of pointing out the culprit.

“We're still coming to your house, right?” Ginny asked.

“As I've already confirmed with Professor McGonagall. Now, it's up to you whether you want to ride the Hogwarts Express back to London, but logically, it won't make a whole lot of sense, when you can simply step through the guest quarters and into the sanctuary.”

“We do have prefect duty, Ron,” Hermione reminded him.

“Crap, forgot about that. All right, a change of plan, then. I'll send Bill and likely an Auror with Fawkes tomorrow. He can then just flame both of you back to my place. Unless you'd like for me to come along as well...”

Ginny frowned and crossed her arms. “Harry... we don't need hand-holding.”

“All right, good enough. I'll see you guys tomorrow, then. I think Casey's planning another barbecue, and I think the pool's up to eighty degrees.”

“I'm still talking to mom and dad,” said Hermione, “They want me to spend some time at home, but likely the end of July I'll be able to come.”

“Just let us know when. Loads of room and all that rot.”

He wrapped Hermione in a hug. “You're one of my best friends. My house is always open to you and you'll always be welcome.”

“Think you're makin' Ron jealous, Ras.”

“Err... right.”

The pair separated.

“We'd best... get back to the guest suite. Have a safe trip tomorrow.”

Rasalas and his fellow knights at last retreated back to the sanctuary, and from there, everyone went in different directions. Brady headed into his preserve, to spend a bit of time with his family, while both Accolon and Cai headed into the house.

That left Rasalas to his own devices, and he found himself wandering into the planetarium. He hadn't done much with it since the battle, save for resetting the map to present-day. After all that had happened... and given the dangers of time-travel as a whole... if he had to admit, the device did scare him a little.

Everyone had been warned about the dangers of messing around with the controls, and there had been debate about removing the control key from the pedestal... but removing the key disabled most of the map's features, rendering it nothing more than a glorified map they already had access to, thanks to Google—and that map didn't show stuff happening in real time. So, the—

Rasalas was drawn out of his thoughts, as a ghostly red avatar began to form over the pedestal. If he had to guess, the creature was something akin to a squid, with a bulky, semi-cylindrical body covered by a tapering series of plates, and five tentacle-like legs. It was tall, quickly reaching the ceiling, so the creature had to be massive in size if it really existed. Then, when it began to speak, it was as if... as if there were dozens of voices, all speaking in unison. It sounded... inhuman, almost robotic.

“ _We impose order on the chaos of organic evolution... You exist because we allow it, and you will end because we demand it._ ”(2)

Quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, leaving Rasalas wondering, “What in the flying  _fuck_ was that?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UP NEXT: “Full Circle”. The final chapter in Champion of the Goddess, where a number of loose ends get tied up, namely the election, and Rasalas gets a bit of closure relating to an event which took place very early in the story._
> 
> _CHAPTER NOTES: Digging into the Crown Protector/Lord Protector title was a very interesting read, particularly about the English Commonwealth. Quite amazing where research leads sometimes. I was quite surprised to learn of the brief period when England had no monarch, attempting to work as a republic._
> 
> _It's understandable that some people in wizarding England might be concerned with the amount of power Harry/Ras might now possess—given what he's already done to the Wizengamot. It'll be interesting to see where that goes, how it plays out. Naturally, it will also depend on who wins the election, right?_
> 
> _And on the note of the election, we get a brief introduction to Madam Bones' primary opponent. He won't have a lot of screen time, as I'm really not gonna focus a whole lot on the election. Thing to remember, is that I try and keep the story focus on Harry and his friends—much like it is in the canon books. There are a number of scenes that do take place away from Harry, but really, not all that many._
> 
> _Finally, I raise a virtual glass to Alan Rickman, who passed away on January 14 after a battle with cancer. He brought Professor Snape to life on the big screen, and he will be sorely missed._
> 
> _(1) I had considered having Arthur return as a ghost, but that would have complicated things. The portrait not so much, and he can still be in the picture (pun intended) to give advice & so on._   
>  _(2) Massive hint as to where we're going in season 2._


	59. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The final chapter in Champion of the Goddess, where a number of loose ends get tied up, namely the election, and Rasalas gets a bit of closure relating to an event which took place very early in the story._

**ACT IV, EPISODE 3**  
**FULL CIRCLE**  
**July, 2007**  


> _“In the spirit of the Alpha and the Omega, in the way the Alpha was the Omega, and vice versa, he knew the beginning was also the end—and that the end was just another beginning.”_

  
_\- Sol Luckman, "Snooze: A Story of Awakening", 2014_   


* * *

_July 1_

The strange holographic creature appearing in the planetarium the previous afternoon had unsettled Rasalas, leaving him restless and unable to sleep well that night. Part of him wanted to write it off as some sort of glitch, but... the way it had spoken... it was unsettling at best, and at worst... a terrible omen.

For now, he decided to keep the encounter quiet, and give it more thought. No sense in getting everyone all worked up about something that could very well be nothing at all.

He pushed the distraction aside mid-afternoon, as both Ron and Ginny arrived along with Bill, thanks to Fawkes. That correlated with the arrival of the twins, spawning yet another impromptu party in Rasalas' yard.

“Y'know what you really need here, is a Quidditch pitch,” said Ron, “We have almost enough players, right.”

“We'd likely have to disguise it since we do still have non-magical people come onto the property sometimes.”

“On Labour Day,” Ginny remembered.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, Quidditch and soccer—I mean, football, they share a similar field, right?” Aaron questioned, “I mean, dimension-wise.”

“'cept that the field's an oval shape,” Rasalas remembered, “And the goal posts are high-up. But it's do-able. I can get the contractor back.”

“Put it where the sh-sh-shop and the back lot used to be,” Ryan suggested, “It's b-b-bare already.”

Rasalas gave a nod. “I'll need your mum's permission too, but I'll make a fire-call in the morning.”

“And something else we really didn't do... I mean, with all the distractions and crap... you did mention expanding the miniature railway,” said Aaron, “It'd be really cool if we...”

“Now that would be a fun little project,” Rasalas agreed, “Maybe set up a second station on this side of the road. Tell you what. I'm open to just about anything, and I'll foot the bill since it's on my side.”

“W-w-we'll probably have to put a fence around the p-p-pool here, if you're gonna have people on the property. Y-y-you really don't wanna end up b-b-bein' sued because s-s-someone was being stupid.”

“Though I do like it open, you're right. Though I think we can set things up so the fence is only in place when we're running a public event.”

“Ever think of building your own engine?” Aaron asked.

“Not had the time. Maybe sometime down the road I might... for now I'll just help with the infrastructure.”

“We'll likely need a water tower on this side, y-y-you know how fast we go through water, right. And the station's a b-b-b-brilliant plan. We could charge two different f-f-fares, right? One station to another, or r-r-round trip.”

“It would make the conductor's job a bit interesting,” Aaron agreed.

“Are... are you guys setting up the rides again this year?” Ginny wondered.

“Yeah, definitely,” Ryan answered, “I'm g-g-getting more help from the ride enthusiast group, but we'll make it w-w-work.”

“And I'll help cover the extra cost,” Rasalas promised, “The steam show in September was one of the only memories I kept after my... well, you know. It's something I don't ever regret doing, because it brought me to where I am now. Without it...”

“You'd still be under Dumbledore's thumb,” said Ron.

“Exactly. And who only knows where I would have ended up... dead more than likely. Voldemort still running rampant, possibly even in control of the ministry by this point.

“Dumbledore's heart was in the right place, but... his methods were completely wrong.”

“Those matters have all been solved,” said Accolon, “Perhaps it is time we put all of that in the past, and not continue to drag it into the present. Revisiting such dark times can only bring about insanity.”

“Thing is... I can't just push those events aside. If only as a reminder that we can't ever let things get that bad, go that far. All of what we've done... I won't let the effort go to waste.”

“But constantly bringin' it up, that ain't healthy,” Brady argued, “Accolon's right.”

* * *

_July 4_

After a number of discussions with the ministry, Brady's brother and mother were finally allowed to return home. Both Rasalas and Brady looked after the transportation, and on arrival, no one was surprised to find American Aurors already present at both locations.

“Guessin' we'd best get used to it, mom,” said Corey, “Brady's part of Ras' life.”

“Well put, Mr. Gibson. The Department of Magic is still debating how to respond to Sir Peverell's new position and title within the wizarding world, but no matter the circumstance, no matter the decision, he is considered a very important person, whether he likes it or not,” one of the Aurors explained.

“Meaning that, most certainly, those who are close friends of his are considered potential targets. Expect at least two of us to be present at all times, though we will try and be as unobtrusive as we possibly can. We would rather you be able to carry on with your normal lives with as little interruption as possible.”

“However,” the first picked up, “There will be times we will have to intervene. If there is some sort of security threat, whether it be here or not, we will have to take you into safety. It's a set of protocols set out by our department.”

“I'll be making a connection back to my sanctuary as it is, so evacuation to a secure location will be rather quick and easy,” said Rasalas.

“Your special chamber you've built into your residence,” the second Auror said, to which Rasalas nodded.

“No way the bad guys are gettin' into it,” said Brady.

“Mom, les' get settled,” said Corey, “'an we can show Ras where he can stick his door.”

“'an when we's done, I'm goin' flyin', an' don' tell me I can't,” said Brady, leaving no room for argument.

“The pair of us will be in the air with you,” said the first Auror, “We'll make sure additional security's brought to the house. The basic rule, is to let us know before you leave the residence, so we can compensate, and warn the Atlanta office.”

“Office?” Betty wanted to know.

“The Auror office in Atlanta. DMLE has a field office in every state, ma'am.”

It took only a few minutes for a door to be placed linking the Gibson residence to the sanctuary. Both American Aurors peered into the structure's foyer, but did not step through. However, Auror Jackson stepped through, and into the residence.

“Sir Rasalas, Sir Brady. Everything's been set up?”

“We're pretty much done,” said Rasalas. “We're about to go flying. I think Brady's been wanting to do this since he learned about magic, and brooms, more specifically.”

That earned Rasalas an elbow to the ribs.

“Prat.”

“Shithead.”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Rasalas smirked.

“Boys...” Betty scolded them.

“Uh. So, uh, I traditionally work protection detail,” said Auror Jackson, “Is it acceptable here?”

“Perfectly,” said the second Auror, “The department's already working closely with yours, so cross-jurisdiction shouldn't be a problem.”

“Excellent. The ministry's being rather protective of our adopted hero of the wizarding world and all that,” said Jackson, “My superiors would be rather upset I wasn't there when he needed protection.”

Rasalas laughed. “Come on, Jackson. It's more like us pulling your asses out of the fire these days.”

“Fair enough.”

“Well? We goin' flyin' or not?” Brady wanted to know.

“Let me see if Ryan and Aaron might want to come,” said Rasalas.

No surprise, the pair joined them, as did a few others. When they took to the air, it better-resembled a small squadron of aircraft—at least until Rasalas cast a special charm on everyone, which prevented anyone outside the party from seeing them. Or, they would be mistaken for a flock of large birds—geese or cranes—instead of people doing something that for non-magical folk, was physically impossible.

From the air, Rasalas quickly noted how close they were to Atlanta, the state capitol.

“Yeah, we could fly there easy,” said Brady, “Prob'ly better we don'.”

“And all of you are aware of certain places that are considered absolute no-no's for brooms,” said Jackson.

“Airports,” Aaron guessed.

“Exactly. Get too close an airport on the back of a broom, you'll find yourself under Auror escort, very quickly,” said the first American Auror, “Fail to follow their instructions and you end up in a Department holding cell, answering some very tough questions.”

“So nine-eleven's had an effect in the magical world too,” Aaron guessed.

“Yeah, very much so,” said the Auror, “The months following, the entire department went through a bunch of procedural changes. The DOM realized that terrorism wasn't just the realm of non-magicals—Voldemort being case-in-point.”

“Much like our ministry,” said Jackson, “We went through similar changes. Our departments were in constant communication, and still are. And it's thanks to that communication that you've all been allowed to do this today. It's not something normally done.”

“Yeah, an' I'm guessin' it ain't gon' be the last time either,” said Corey. He was riding with his brother.

“Hey, I really appreciate this,” said Rasalas, “Getting Brady's family home... it's been a wish since all this rubbish started. It wasn't fair, them being uprooted just because of some crazy wizard and his rhetoric.”

The group fell silent for some time, as they made an easy track slightly northwest, wanting to avoid heading into the more populated area. Rasalas couldn't help but notice the difference in the air, being so much further south. Sure, southern Ontario got incredibly warm—or at least had for the past two summers, but Georgia heat seemed to have an atmosphere all its own.

“Hey, everyone s-s-s-stop for a 'sec,” said Ryan. “Aaron, hold the b-b-broom.”

“Why?” Jackson asked.

“I think I see something... look down there, about a hundred m-m-m-meters, eleven o'clock.”

Ryan reached into his pouch, and pulled out a pair of binoculars, and while Aaron steadied the broom, he zoomed in on the object which had attracted his attention.

“Damn. Looks like parts to an old s-s-saw mill. S-s-s-steam engine, part of a boiler... l-l-left for garbage at the edge of the w-w-woods.”

“Well, if the owner's left it to rot... if we could find—”

Corey let out a snort. “Hankel. Charles Hankel. Guy's a fuckin' tool, ravin' lunatic if 'ya ask me.”(1)

“Had a boy, not been seen for a decade, somethin' like that,” Brady threw in, “Folks pretty much stay away from the place... Corey's right. Man's touched in the head.”

“If I got it right, his wife ran off twenty or so years ago, sent the old man off the deep end,” said Corey.

“How do you guys know about him then, if he keeps to himself?” Rasalas asked.

“Small place, people talk,” Corey answered, with a shrug, as they got moving again.

“But surely... I mean, we'd pay for the machinery, they'd make money off of it, rather than leave it to rot,” said Aaron.

“Just based on the unsubstantiated information from Mr. Gibson and his brother, we would have to do some sort of investigation, and make sure it's safe first,” said one of the American Aurors.

“N-n-n-not right now then,” Ryan decided, “B-b-but maybe in a few months, w-w-we can revisit it. A steam-p-p-powered sawmill. D-d-da wanted to get hold of one... s-s-so it would be awesome to d-d-do it in his m-m-memory.”

It was nearly time for dinner before they returned to the house. They found that Casey had come through, and was helping Betty put the late meal together. Rasalas was amazed at how similar the house was to what Brady had set up in his 'preserve' inside the sanctuary.

Then, as dusk fell, the party was treated to a fantastic fireworks display, courtesy the twins. For the Gibsons, Independence day just took on a second meaning.

“Happy fourth of July, mate,” Rasalas grinned, clapping Brady on the back.

He found himself on the receiving end of another tight embrace.

“'an it means the world, Ras.”

* * *

_July 10_

The sapling Rasalas had received from Avalon had grown quite nicely, and was now large enough and strong enough that it could be moved out into the yard instead of being kept in a clay pot in the sanctuary's greenhouse. The Tree of Avalon needed to be in the earth, to be connected to the earth, in order to thrive.

So, just before sunrise, the residents and guests of Rasalas' once again gathered in the back yard, to the west of the pool and patio, where a small hole had been prepared the previous evening. A number of flat stones had also been collected, and Casey had contributed a small statue of the goddess.

“Great Goddess of the earth. Thank you for the gift of this tree, a reminder of your unending love for each and every one of us... that the circle of life carries on, no matter where it may lead us. Through tears of joy, and tears of sadness, we continue to be touched by you.”

With Casey's help, Rasalas gently tugged the small sapling out of the clay pot, and placed it in the prepared hole.

“Through sunshine and rain, joy and sorrow, we must not forget ever: there is one who loves us unconditionally. She touches each and every one of us, every hour of the day. Let us seek out that strength, when we have no more,” said Casey, as Rasalas began to gently push the pile of soil into the hole so it covered the roots.

“May this gift continue to bring balance into this world, at a time when it is needed the most,” said Rasalas.

Now, the others helped to move the flat stones to cover up the base of the tree, and protect it from pests. Of course, Rasalas could already feel the magic humming around it, as the tree began to draw energy from the soil around it, and cement its roots.

“B-b-b-blessed be, mother Goddess, thank you for allowing Rasalas to bring a small slice of Avalon, and a symbol of your love, here to his home.”

Then, as the sun breached the horizon, Ryan gripped Aaron's hand, and dropped to one knee. He could feel his face getting hot, his palms getting sweaty... the butterflies doing circles in his stomach. He sucked in a breath... do it before he lost his nerve...

“Th-th-this is s-s-something I w-w-wanted to do b-b-back in Avalon... b-b-but this w-w-will have to d-d-do. Aaron W-watson... before all these w-w-witnesses, and the Goddess... will you do me the honour of b-b-becoming my bonded?”

Aaron stood speechless, mouth hanging open. He'd somewhat expected the question. Of course, he had debated just doing it, but... there it was.

“Ryan Sawyer... you are my everything. Before all these witnesses, before the Goddess, yes. To become bonded with you... I wanted to marry you since the first time we met.”

“I d-d-don't have a ring or anything, but...”

“That doesn't matter to me. Just kiss me here and that will do,” Aaron smirked.

Ryan only happily obliged, resulting whoops and cheers for the happy couple.(2)

The event spurned yet another boisterous party in Rasalas' back yard. He was more than happy for his newest friends, but a small part of him looked on with envy, with Arthur being delegated to existing as a portrait. Where was his happy ending... or Rasalas' for that matter?

* * *

_July 13_

Lunch time was interrupted by Ron letting out a gasp, seeing the front page of the evening edition of the _Daily Prophet—_ remember, England's five hours ahead, making it dinner time. The left side of the page was taken up by a large moving photograph of Snape, looking the ever-foreboding man he was. The right side, taken up by large block letters reading: _SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER._

“Harry! Are you mental?”

“What?” Rasalas asked.

“It says you advocated his appointment! He's a slimy Slytherin who's been having a go at us since we started school!”

“Ron! For the love of... just leave it. Trust me, with most of his strings cut, I think he'll make a smashing headmaster, exactly what the school needs. And really, if there is a problem, he'll find my support revoked rather quickly. Something no one will want.”

“Well...”

“And you have to admit, he was a damned good teacher when it came to Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Well... all right... but really. Snape, headmaster?”

“I know. There was a bit of debate within my own conscience, an identical argument to what you just presented. Thing is, deep down, Professor Snape can be a decent human being. This is his chance to prove it.

“Part of that is doing the jobs Dumbledore hasn't been for years. Making sure the school is safe for everyone, being the primary, foremost, at the top of the list.”

“It's still not gonna be all that popular, Harry.”

“And it's not about making the popular decision, Ron. It's about making the right one. Perhaps it is a gamble, but, my gut says, it's right. And my gut's not been wrong all that often.”

“You'll certainly earn more than a few points with Slytherin,” said Marcus, “This sort of move demonstrates your lack of bias toward them.”

“Well, I never really had any outright dislike for Slytherin as a whole. I mean, I said it before... the hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.”

“And considering some of the plots you've hatched over the past few months only prove it,” said Marcus, “Bloody hell you would have been a powerful asset.”

“Meanwhile, the rest of wizarding Britain probably would have suffered an aneurysm. The boy-who-lived, a _Slytherin_?! The world's coming to an end!” Rasalas exclaimed, in dramatic fashion.

That brought about raucous laughter from around the table.

“Even more precious, would have been Dumbledore's reaction,” said Marcus.

“He'd likely demand a re-sort, I think.”

Marcus shook his head. “No such thing.(3) Once the hat places you, that house becomes your home and your family as long as you're a student at Hogwarts.”

* * *

_July 23_

The election on the 16 th  ended in a landslide victory for Amelia Bones. Her campaign based on “ _Common sense, respect, fairness, and equality for all_ ”, spurned on by a number of endorsement spots Rasalas had taken part in over the wizarding wireless, easily buried the “ _Traditional magical values_ ” angle taken by Barnabas Delecon.

Now, as it neared the noon hour local time, Rasalas and his fellow knights stood at the back of a temporary dais erected in the atrium of England's ministry of magic. Dozens of microphones were set up, and a throng of reporters were gathered, as were a large audience of the wizarding public, which backed out into the corridors on both sides.

Seated on the dais were some members of the newly-elected Wizengamot, along with the minister-elect. Also present were a number of department heads, including Rufus Scrimgeour, appointed as head of the DMLE. He now stood, and approached the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen. This election, this series of events, has been unprecedented. Never before, has the entire law-making body been dissolved. Normally, it would be the chief warlock standing in my place. Due to the circumstances, it was felt I would serve best as a sort of master-of-ceremonies.

“If our new minister-elect would please rise and join me at the podium, along with Sir Rasalas Peverell, we may begin.”

Both Madam Bones and Rasalas crossed the platform, to join Scrimgeour at the podium. Scrimgeour then stepped back.

He turned to face the back. “Sir Brady, Sir Accolon, and Sir Cai, if you'll join us as sentinels.”

Brady, Accolon, and Cai all hurried over, with Brady standing behind, while Cai and Accolon stood at left and right. They stood with hands clasped, and heads bowed. Each of them wore tuxedos, though Rasalas had gone with Arthur's armour. He was acting as an agent of the crown, for this critical event. There had been discussion about what sort of ceremony should be presented, and it was decided it should be rather simple.

Rasalas then began, “Madam minister-elect, if you would produce your wand, and point it skyward.”

Madam Bones produced her wand, and pointed it skyward, as requested.

“Do you promise to uphold the laws of Wizarding England?”

“I promise.”

“Do you promise to protect the people of Wizarding England against all threats, foreign and domestic?”

“I do so promise.”

“Do you promise to execute the office of minister of magic, with honesty, integrity, above reproach?”

“All these things I promise, with every fiber of my being.”

“Congratulations, madam minister.”

Now, Rasalas turned and faced the gathered crowd.

“Mother Goddess of the earth, please grant Amelia the fortitude and wisdom, as she takes on the tremendous mantle before her. Help her to navigate the many challenges and trials that she will face. Help her to govern with a fair, unbiased hand. Help her to resist the temptations to take the easy route, guide her to do what is right, and what is necessary, that this great land of your creation might thrive, become all that it can be.

“Mother Goddess, help all of us that we may see your grace in all that we do, that we may once again hear your voice, feel your love. Help the newly-elected members of the Wizengamot to govern fairly and justly, that past mistakes are learned from, rather than repeated.

“All of this I ask, as your humble servant, past, present, and future. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be,” both Accolon and Cai spoke.

“Amen,” said Brady.

Rasalas then proclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen, Amelia Bones, England's Minister for Magic!”

That spurned the crowd into a roaring ovation. The new minister waited a few minutes, before asking for quiet.

“Thank you. Thank you all,” she began. “Times here have been difficult. We've faced Tom Riddle and his followers twice now in recent memory, both occasions having a terrible cost for our community as a whole.

“It is only through respect and understanding, underlined by Sir Peverell, that we as a community will heal, but more importantly, grow and prosper. All of us have been given a tremendous gift in a clean slate, a fresh start. Let us not squander it by reverting to the harmful ways of the past.

“It is with that in mind that I do the following as my first act as your Minister for Magic: be it known that Magical England does officially recognize the title of Crown Protector, given to Sir Rasalas Peverell, in that he acts with all of the powers and privilages of King Arthur, by grace of the Goddess.

“For too long, the Wizengamot and the minister have not been held to account. That must change, and that will change, beginning now. In the non-magical world, the English parliament must answer to the crown, and it is therefore only right it be done here.

“We have much work to do, but if we all work together, there is very little we cannot do.”

She paused a moment.

“I am now open to questions.”

Instantly, there was a throng of voices, but she picked out a reporter in the fifth row.

“Isn't Sir Rasalas' authority here redundant, given his Peverell lineage? Given it was his actions which triggered this election in the first place... before he received the title of Crown Protector.”

“Protector Peverell, care to answer?”

“It's a difference of jurisdiction,” Rasalas answered. “I have to admit I'm a little chuffed that Britain is the first wizarding nation to officially recognize my authority—authority I must admit I don't care for. Thing is, if it'll better the world as a whole, keep the government honest, then so be it.”

“Will you force other nations into accepting your title?” came a question from the second row.

“Only if there is no choice in the matter,” Rasalas answered, “The sovereignty of a nation is something its citizens must hold dear, and for someone to just arbitrarily infringe on that, for no reason... it's both foolish and irresponsible.

“If, however, a nation's actions cause great strife for its own citizens, or its actions affect communities around them, then perhaps an intervention might be necessary. That would be the only scenario where I would invoke the powers Arthur has passed on to me.”

The press conference carried on for another hour, with many of the questions being asked of Rasalas, and his title. It was no surprise that would take centre stage, since up to now, he'd said very little. Perhaps it was best to get all the questions out of the way, and head off future harassment from the media, perhaps head off speculation, and far worse, incorrect assumptions on the part of the public.

The event ended, only leading to a lengthy reception which took the rest of the afternoon. It was there Rasalas met more of the elected Wizengamot members, one of them being Augusta Longbottom.

“Protector Peverell,” she greeted.

“It's still just Rasalas to you. Uh... considering Madam Bones is now the minister, I'll want to change my proxies. Would you be willing?”

“It's still legal for the minister to cast votes on your behalf,” Longbottom answered.

“I think it's improper, whether legal or not.”

“Well, it is entirely up to you. I'll expect notices of intent, then.”

Longbottom thought for a moment. “Something else you should be aware of. Should you attend a meeting of the Wizengamot, you will take the place of the Chief Warlock during the session, given your status.”

“Oh. Never thought of that.”

“There are many things you will need to think of, Rasalas,” said Longbottom, “You have your solicitor?”

“Yeah. Kate Lewis, Canadian law-witch. She's been truly amazing dealing with a number of matters.”

“I'm sure she's already warned you, but do be careful. Your position within our world is unprecedented—there's not been a magical king or equivilent in modern times. There will be many who may try to take advantage of you.”

“Yeah, there's been a few of my close allies who have already warned me about that. My house elves are screening my mail—though the wards on the house tend to catch stuff that may be harmful.”

“Most importantly, you do have to be careful when out in the magical world.”

“And that's already well-covered, Madam Longbottom,” said Auror Jackson, coming up beside Rasalas, “The Canadian Ministry has a round-the-clock watch on his property, and he has a constant escort when he's out in public.”

“Most of the protection detail is out of sight, while in more formal functions, they're rather visible. And, at least a few of my allies and friends tend to be with me as it is.”

“Sir Accolon and Sir Cai, as well as... Sir Brady, is it?” Longbottom remembered.

“At minimum, Sir Brady is with me these days... but given today's event, all four of us wanted to be here.”

“It's likely our DMLE here will add protection detail while you're in the country. They'll coordinate with their Canadian counterpart if ample time is given. It shouldn't be expected that Canadian Aurors provide protection abroad.”

“This is true,” Jackson agreed, “I'll pass on a message to Mr. Young, and he'll be in contact with... Mr. Scrimgeour, is it?”

“Thing is, I'll likely limit my time here, mostly to visiting Hogwarts. The castle seems to like me, and the feeling's mutual.”

“As my grandson has told me,” Longbottom laughed, “Having an ancient connection to the school does put you in a rather unique position.”

Now it was Rasalas' turn to laugh. “Yeah, guess it does.”

It turned out to be an incredibly long day, as they ended up also attending the inauguration ball. So it was well after midnight London time before they finally said their good byes, returning to the sanctuary. Then, even though it was only seven o'clock Ontario time, Rasalas felt exhausted, both physically and mentally.

“You look dead on your feet,” Arthur remarked from his portrait.

“I feel like it. Good grief, never expected to make a day of it,” Rasalas answered, as he flicked a hand at himself, instantly undressing. The armour popped onto a neat stand in the corner of the room, while the rest of his clothes went into the hamper.

“The life of a monarch. It holds a unique set of challenges. But you must trust me, Rasalas. I can think of no one better-suited for that challenge. The title you now hold will allow you to continue your work for the Goddess; ensuring balance.”

“I know. It's why I haven't outright rejected the title. I only hope... I won't really need to act on it.”

“You and I both know that is impossible,” said Arthur, “There will always be those who will work to oppose the true greater good, those who will work to sow nothing but misery on their fellow man.

“It is in those cases, where you will be required to act, to set things right.”

“I know, Arthur. I just... I just hope it's some time before that happens.”

That got a nod from the King. “And where is Brady?”

“Gone to visit with his mum and brother for a while. He's not as wore out as I am. Guess he's used to it.”

“He loves you as much as I, Rasalas. Just give him time and he will come to the realization he loves you equally.”

“I just... last thing I want to do is piss him off, scare him away. You know something really bad happened to him a year and a half ago.”

“You must just give him time. All will be well, I am certain of it.”

He didn't remember when he fell asleep, but Rasalas partially woke, feeling someone else climb into bed with him, and spoon up against him. Perhaps, Arthur was right. Time would only tell.

* * *

The following morning, Brady woke him up, wanting to go out on the bike. Rasalas easily obliged, with them this time heading out east toward Port Hope and Cobourg. It was later in the morning before they stopped, at last finding a Tim Horton's.

As they were leaving, Rasalas stopped.

“Ras?”

“That truck,” Rasalas answered, discreetly pointing to a battered-up pickup truck parked further down the lot. “It... that was the vehicle that... when I was attacked nearly two years ago. Whoever owns that truck... they did it.”

“Rasalas. Are you positive?” came a disembodied voice to his left, belonging to Auror Jackson.

Rasalas was momentarily confused, considering it had been a separate pair of Aurors who'd at first joined them out of sight. Then it dawned on him: they'd likely changed while he and Brady were eating.

“Positive. That memory... it was that truck.”

Brady made to turn around and go back into the restaurant, but an unseen hand stopped him.

“We'll take care of it. Best not get involved,” came Jackson's voice.

“As much as I want to make them hurt... just... make sure they face justice.”

“Sir Rasalas. You have my word.”

* * *

_PEVERELL ASSAILANTS CAPTURED;_  
_SENTENCED TO AZKABAN_

_Bill Hammond, 56, and Roy Cutter, 37, were apprehended by Aurors in Cobourg on Tuesday afternoon, after Protector Peverell recognized the vehicle he saw on the night he was attacked nearly two years ago._

_A confession was secured by Aurors Tuesday evening, as well as confessions for a string of other offenses reaching back nearly a decade, all taking place in locations between Cobourg and Oshawa. Inquiries to both local law enforcement and the Ontario Provincial Police have uncovered a number of unsolved cases, some of which have been matched to the confession obtained Tuesday._

_The defendants have both been sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban for assaulting a magical person, attempted murder, and robbery. Though both offenders are non-magical, the ministry guideline establishes that attacks against magical people perpetrated by non-magical individuals, must be responded to swiftly,and harshly. A ministry (See SPOKESWITCH, page 2)_

_Ministry regulations regarding non-magical crimes against the magical world, page 8_

_Closure for Protector Peverell? Page 5_

  


“Good riddance,” Rasalas muttered, tossing the paper down on the end table.

He and Brady were sitting out on the verandah back at Brady's place. Brady wanted to spend a bit of time at home, but invited Rasalas to join him. Of course, that didn't stop Dobby from bringing in a copy of the National Wizards' Standard when it arrived.

“In your shoes, I'd have just shot 'em.”

“And I'd probably get away with it. Thing is, staying out of it, letting DMLE handle it, it keeps everything nice and legal. I meant what I said on Monday. The less I have to do with being Crown Protector, the better.

“I guess in some ways, a small part of me has them to thank. Without them, I wouldn't have met you. Or gotten away from Dumbledore. The world might be a very different place. So I have a small amount of forgiveness for them. Not entirely, but...”

“Says lots about your character, Ras.”

* * *

_July 31_

There had been plenty of discussion about having a party on Rasalas' birthday. He didn't want to make a big deal about it, but more than a few people on both sides of the pond had other ideas.

In a repeat of the previous year, however, both Rasalas and Brady took off early on the bike, and did not return until it was nearly lunch time. Then, during lunch (for which the back patio had been adjusted and expanded), he was presented with a large bag filled with letters. No surprise, considering he did have somewhat of a fan base. He would answer those at a later time.

The number of people present indeed represented both sides of the pond, with both the Canadian and English ministers making a brief visit at one point during the day. The majority of the teachers from Hogwarts also dropped by, including the newly-appointed headmaster. None stayed for long.

Rasalas, and by extension Brady, meanwhile, were content to park themselves in a pair of deck chairs, with a chest of beer between them. Those sitting around them, however, changed frequently.

The pool was very busy, given the warm day—though it had become the normal activity during the afternoon for the past while. Like the previous summer, July had brought the heat to southern Ontario. Ryan and Aaron were cuddled together on a large mesh tube—Rasalas had to shake his head at what they had decided to wear into the pool. He could only imagine what Ryan's mother had to say about it.

Rasalas smirked, and called out, “Y'know. If you pair want to have a wet wedding, we can probably arrange it.”

“Long as you two join us w-w-w-wearing what you've got on,” Ryan answered.

“Fuck off.”

That earned laughs from the others, both in the pool and around it.

“I keep warning them, wearin' all that gear near the pool, they're asking to get dunked,” Aaron quipped, “Beside the point, they did promise us they'd do it and let us film it.”

“Stuff happened. You guys know how it was last summer. Then all the shit in the fall... been a brutal year, we've all suffered great losses in one way or another.”

“'an we need to put it behind us,” said Brady, “Stop bringin' it up, 'specially today.”

“I don't mean to, but it's hard not to.”

He picked up his beer, and finished the last bit of it.

“The world has to be a better place today than it was yesterday. The worst monster has been slain, and I'm surrounded by dear friends. I could want nothing more, then to see a better future.”

“Ras... 'nough wallowin' in melancholy. I's your birthday,” Brady scolded him again.

Rasalas stuck his tongue out in response.

“Shithead.”

“Wanker.”

That earned a swat from Brady, which Rasalas swiftly returned. Brady then answered by dumping the remnants of his beer in Rasalas' lap.

“Hey Fred, looks like the birthday boy may have had a small accident,” George smirked.

“Right you are Georgie. Let's give them a hand cleaning up,” Fred smirked. And, before either Rasalas or Brady could react, they both landed in the pool with an enormous splash.

Rasalas surfaced first, coughing and wheezing, startled by what had just been done to him. Brady surfaced only a few seconds later, better for the wear, though equally soaked. The pair of them stood in the water up to their necks, the bubbles still escaping from their clothes.

“Good lord,” he muttered.

Rasalas could only shake his head. “Bloody wankers.”

“We did threaten to do it,” said George.

“Last year this time,” Fred added.

Rasalas let out a sigh. “Guess you did. Serves me right for lettin' my gaurd down.” He smirked. “Uh, Sir Brady, you seem to be missing an accessory.”

Brady reached up, no noticing his cap was missing.

“I think it's at the bottom,” said Ginny, who was sitting on the edge with her feet dangling in the water.

Brady flicked a hand at the item, summoning it. He jammed it back on his head, and Rasalas could only laugh.

“You look like a drowned rat.”

Brady grinned. “So do you.” And he seized Rasalas about the face, pulled him close, and they locked lips together.

  


FINITE INCANTATUM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINAL NOTES: So it ends. Harry has set the world on a course he hopes is far better than what was in place. Of course, there are plenty of things still going on, but from my point of view, the major plot arc for this story is concluded—he did what the Goddess set him out to do.
> 
> Now, of course, he has a very different title than what he started out with, and plenty of material that could come out of that... and equally important, a few implications hinted at recently. There will be a sequel to this, but I can't promise when. I've only just began to write down ideas about it, let alone to establish the plot. So count on it being a while before anything gets posted.
> 
> With this being a series, I can, however, post a few extra scenes, so there might be more in the near future, likely rather short pieces, mainly one-shots and so on.
> 
> That said, I thank all of my readers for joining Harry/Rasalas and Brady on what was truly a crazy, epic ride. Your comments have been awesome. Do remember to subscribe to the series to be notified when it's updated. But with that, Finite Incantatum.
> 
> (1) Hmmm... oh the plot bunny, why won't you die? I'll let my readers figure out who/what/where this is from. Virtual cookies to the first correct guess. And those of you that do know... yeah, both Brady and his brother have the man pegged quite nicely. Another pointer to possible events in *cough* season 2 *cough*... we'll see.
> 
> (2) This is an event I did plan for from the very beginning. It went through a couple of modifications, and moved about somewhat, before it took the form presented. Now as to their wedding, it'll likely take place early in the next story.
> 
> (3) Taking a swipe at the “insert-character-here gets resorted” trope. There is no canon example of this, and quite honestly, I think it goes against the spirit of the sorting hat. Granted, I also disagree with such a thing being forced on an eleven-year-old. Our personalities do change as we go through life, and so being branded by a handful of personality traits, particularly at a young age... not a great idea.
> 
> As an additional note, I've finally nailed down where exactly Brady lives—only after the story's over. It's about 22, maybe 23 kilometres southwest of Athens, GA., due east of a little place called Good Hope. The house is set back from a small lake, much like as Brady creates in his 'preserve'.


End file.
